Rise from the Ashes
by AlexHamato
Summary: Dragged down into the lowest depths that he has ever experienced in his life, Michelangelo struggles to rise from the scattered and broken remains of his mind. Sequel to, "Catch Me if you Can."
1. Hear No Evil

_This actually came up sooner than I thought that it would. I'd advise that those who are interested in this story to read the prequel, "Catch Me if you Can." If not, I'll try to keep in perspective that some may not know what's going on. But no promises. This is going to have a lot less 'action' and much more character study and development. I'm experimenting with a new angle for several characters with this story. I'll try to update fairly regularly, so Enjoy!_

* * *

**RISE FROM THE ASHES**

Hear No Evil

Mouths all around him moved soundlessly. Shuffled stares and downcast eyes surrounded his presence while the blurred motions caused his concentration to diminish as his mind whirled in confusion. His stomach spun wildly as the bubbling piles of colors before him threatened to spill over on his lap. He sat stiffly, mouth drawn into a tight, grim line as he refused to acknowledge the strange scene before him. Sound began creeping into his mind; only muffled whispers then slowly grew into a gale of wispy voices. He couldn't decipher the words. The voices were stolen by a gale of tunneling wind. Heat brushed up against his elbow and he flinched away from the touch, sensitive to the intrusive nature.

"You haven't touched your mashed potatoes, Mikey."

So that was what the bubbling mass on his plate was. As his vision because less unfocused, he blinked at the perfectly normal white fluffy potatoes that sat innocently on his plate. Beef gravy pooled over the sides like an overflowing volcano. His mouth was dry. So dry. The food was sickening, even as his stomach gurgled pathetically at the hollow emptiness. There was a troubled sigh and his eyes darted to the floor in shame. He should be better than this.

"Sorry…"

"No, you don't have to apologize. Can you at least try to drink your milk? You need some nutrients. You haven't eaten a decent meal in weeks."

"I can eat the potatoes, dude." Taking hold of the cold metal of a fork, he turned the gleaming steel in his hand before diving the pointed head into the hot mess on his plate. The pile squished disgustingly and he had to fight back the vile rising in the back of his throat. Gagging with stinging eyes, he forced the food down.

_Poison. The food is poison._

Mikey almost spat the food out on reflex, but managed to force it down his throat and used the milk to help wash it down the rest of the way. The stinging in his eyes was dying down and the churning in the stomach grew worse, but the hollow feeling dissipated. Looking up from his now empty plate, he spirits lifted considerably at the looks of relief on his family. A week ago he couldn't even crawl out of his closet.

_They know. They know and they hate you for it. They won't let you stay. They'll make you leave. They know everything. _

"What are you looking at, Mike?"

He flinched at the question as if it stung him and averted his eyes downward, "Sorry, Raph."

There was a sharp intake of breath that was followed by a quick, "Don't worry about it. Just… don't worry about it, man."

After a moment of silence that seemed to seep energy from him like a parasite, there was a shift and small clinks and crunches as the rest of his family ate their dinner in near silence. Mikey sat stiffly in his seat, focusing as hard as he could at the table to avoid eye-contact and to keep the whispering voices at bay. He hated them. They were only light whispers at first, but over the past few days have strengthened into voices. Foreign voices so alien and intrusive.

He couldn't tell his family. The very idea made his entire body go icy with fear. Minutes ticked by before his brother Leonardo cleared his throat, "So is Victor Junior considered to be Tina and Todd's twin now? I don't see how that would work out."

Splinter silently placed his fork besides his plate and folded his hands on the table, "I don't believe that Tina was actually Todd's twin. That woman, ah… Alison Perkins is her name, I believe. She works for that cult leader Mitch Laurence and actually switched the results from the DNA test that was performed on Todd."

"So is Todd supposed to be Victor Lord's son, then? I thought he shared the same mother as Tina though, and she never mentioned a third child. Not that I think it's possible to have identical twins in a set of triplets though," Leo said as he rotated his Rambo coffee mug to swirl the tea into a whirlpool of the hot, bitter liquid.

"It's possible. Especially since the mother was in her late forties, right? In that stage of life women produce more eggs and have higher chances of twins. That along with the fact that you can start with two fertilized eggs where one of them can split into identical twins," Don said with a bored tone, "Not that you can ever take Soap Opera's seriously. They probably didn't want to continue using the excuse that Victor Junior used plastic surgery to look like Todd, and that it would be easier to just say that he was his twin."

"No, that younger Victor looked exactly like Todd, and that evil bitch Irene Manning gave him plastic surgery to look like Mitch Laurence's brother. I think his name was Walter or Walker, whatever. Everybody sounds the same in this stupid show," Raph grumbled through a mouthful of fried chicken, "I think she was his mother or some shit like that. Then she brainwashed him to thinking he was Todd while she held Todd in that weird ass glass prison. Don't know why the dumbass didn't just use one of the chairs to break a wall down."

"That was Vicky who held Dorian hostage in the glass apartment, not Irene Manning. Victor Lord built that under his house while she was having those multiple personality outbreaks. She called himself Jean Randalf," Leo argued.

"Why did that Lord Victor dude have that creepy glass apartment under his house anyways?" Mikey asked, his voice quiet but heard easily by every family member. He ducked away from the surprised glances and stared at his empty plate, "Uh… Sorry."

"No, no! It's, uh… Great that you're, ah…" Leo fumbled, tumbling his hands in the air as he searched for the right words.

"Participating?" Don offered with a relieved tone and an encouraging smile.

"About time, too." Raph grinned crookedly with a playful punch to his youngest brother's shoulder. Eyes widening at the action, he instantly raised his hands back with his palms raised, "Shit, uh… Sorry, Mike. Didn't mean to, you know…"

"It's fine," Mikey said with a rushed tone as he unclenched his tightened fists that were pressed into the top of his thighs, "It's cool."

_They know. They have to know now that you blew it. You're so stupid. Stupid. Stupid. _

He wouldn't meet their eyes. He couldn't let them read him. Sick dread writhed in his stomach as the digesting mashed potatoes threatened to bubble up his throat. Sharp whispers snapped across the table,

"What were you thinking?"

"Now look what you did, that probably set us back another week."

"It's not like I meant too. Fuck, I'm not used too…"

"Silence, all of you," Master Splinter's commanding tone shook the room as it quieted down and he gazed upon his son with soft eyes, "This means nothing, my son. You are doing a fine job, we are simply being impatient. Please, do not mind us. We are simply here for you."

_Liar. He's lying. Shut up. Don't talk. Don't look at him. You'll ruin everything. You always ruin everything. You're so worthless. Don't talk. Why are you opening your mouth? Don't talk! _

Mikey clenched his jaw and nodded dumbly, his face heated with shame and eyes prickling from the confusion of his spinning head and the regret that left his heart heavy. He just wanted to leave. To be away from the eyes that watched him. Always watched him.

_They hate you. They know what you are. They won't stay. They hate you._

His joints were filled with cement. Fingers and skin twitched as he felt the eyes bore into him, the gazes burning holes into his skin. Suddenly springing back from the table with a jolt, he stood and made his way across and out of the kitchen so fast that he could barely feel his feet touching the ground. The whispering voices followed him into his room where he found himself curled up in the nearest corner with a single word drilling into his mind.

_ Freak. Freak. Freak. Freak. Freak. Freak. Freak. Freak. Freak. Freak._

* * *

Nothing was right anymore. His brother hasn't been right since he carried him out of that damned factory. Donatello pursed his mouth tightly as he could sense the presence of his idiotic brother trailing him. Of course Raphael was the first to screw everything up, Don mentally groaned as he slowed his pace down. He shouldn't think that. Not that it wasn't true.

"What do you want?" Don asked sharply, unable to keep the venom from his voice. His brother stiffened at the town and scowled darkly.

"Don't talk to me like that, asshole. I'm just making sure you're not off to do something… Whatever. Just never mind. You're always running off nowadays, coward."

"Off to do what? Something stupid? You're one to speak, throwing your fists around like that. You knew that even a light touch freaks him out, what were you thinking?"

"I wasn't thinking! Fuck, I said I was sorry, didn't I? What more do you want from me?" Raph threw up his hands as his voice boomed across the sewer tunnels. "This isn't easy for any of us, Don. Might as well not be a fucking asshole too. I know I'm at least trying."

"… I know," Don sighed as he rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly, "Look, I just need some fresh air. Alone," he made sure to add at his brothers inquiring look. "I mean it, Raph. I don't want to be around anybody right now."

"Yeah, yeah. I don't know why I followed. Fuck, I don't know why I do half of the shit that I do anymore," Raph shifted uncomfortably. Only the gurgling waters that flowed through the tunnel stifled the silence that surrounded them.

"Look, why don't you just do what you have been wanting to do for weeks?" Don asked with a faint trace of annoyance, "You can't avoid Mike forever."

"How am I supposed to talk to him? I'll probably just screw him up more than he already is. I already sent him running back to his room like the devil was on his heels."

Surprised at the openness of his brother's confessions, Don shrugged and turned to walk away. "Just keep it simple and don't treat him like he's a time bomb. See you later"

"Yeah," Raph huffed as he watched his brother walk out of sight before turning himself to begin his trek back home, "Worst fucking case of Deja-Vu in my life."

* * *

The tattered and patched cloth of the weathered couch was itchy to the touch. Leonardo shifted awkwardly on the thin cushions as he shifted his gaze from the closed bedroom door of his youngest brother to the open doorway of his father's room. Wringing his hands together as his stomach flipped wildly, he realized that he should leave his father alone. The entire family was on edge since Mikey's return and the very subject always brought sour faces and grim eyes. He breathed heavily through his nostrils when the lair's door finally opened and a sullen Raph appeared and closed the door silently behind him.

"Any luck?"

"Hell, no. You think I could sweet talk Don into staying home for one fucking night? I don't know where the hell he goes all the damn time, but I don't like it. Whatever. Not that it matters," Raph grumbled as he plopped himself down on the couch and flicked on the television, "You're not going to make me sit through hours of Soap Operas again, are you? Because I'm not going to sit through another marathon."

"No, not tonight."

"Good."

They said nothing as the news played on the glowing screen before them. The noise filled the void of silence that plagued their home every moment. His brother lifted the remote before him to raise the volume. Leo knew that his brother could hear the Newscaster just fine; he just wanted to drown out the silence.

_"… is suspected to several homicides in the Manhattan area these past few weeks. Police Reports say that each victim had a variety of similar deaths that connected them what some to believe to be one of the most prolific serial killers of this decade…" _

"Raph, turn that off. We can't sit here every night like this."

The screen blacked out and silenced rushed back in like an unwanted guest. "And do what?"

"Anything but nothing," Leo sighed as he leaned over to massage his pulsating temples, "Maybe we should see April? Just check up on her. Maybe Casey is back from… Was it Minnesota? Wherever his mother lives."

Raphael said nothing and stared blankly into the empty screen of the television.

This couldn't go on much longer. The lack of sound was so heavy that it weighed down every muscle, like the air itself had been filled with tar. It was nerve-racking. Forcing himself to stand to his feet, he stood dumbly as his mind and eyes wandered across the lair. Dust covered all furniture in thick layers and an unpleasant odor wafted towards them from the kitchen. Garbage needed to be taken out again.

Mundane chores that meant nothing but over time built up into severe annoyances that made Leonardo grind his teeth in irritation. Snapping a throw pillow towards his brother, who caught it with a cloud of dust covering his torso with the force of movement, "What the hell, Leo?"

He didn't give his brother a response as he continued to slap the sides of the couch to release more puffs of gathered dust. Pulling up the cushions, he beat those out as well and let the lost particles float downwards to litter the ground. Leo heard his brother groan and shift his body from the couch and lumber off into kitchen, probably to retrieve a broom and dustpan.

They didn't speak as they started their first cleaning for three weeks. Leonardo found the mechanical movements and simple chores to be comforting and distracting. He fought to keep his mind from wandering back to the first week of his brother's return. The lucid speech and bright, bubbling eyes sent waves of fear and confusion throughout the family like wildfire. They never thought that he was going to recover. Leo couldn't even count how many times he found himself torn with indecision while standing over a brother who was flailing on the ground and screaming out from fears that he couldn't even begin to understand.

Nights were always the worst; it must have been the darkness, because his brother never strayed far from his closet. Always shut himself into the smallest space possible. Leo finally made his way over towards the kitchen, after the living room was deemed clean enough to his standards, and quickly hurried over to tie the sides of the white garbage bag into a tight knot. His brother nudged him to the side slightly, as he hoisted the bag up and walked out to dispose of it.

Leo started the dishes next. He made sure that the water was hot enough to make his hands prickle with agitation and steam to rise up to surround his face. Three plates were scrubbed clean when Raph came back to join him, standing by his side to hand dry the dishes as he washed and rinsed. Another cycle of cleaning was started.

After the kitchen was the bathroom. A room he'd rather avoid. Grimacing at the memory, he heard a gruff grunt to his left, "What's that face for?"

"Cut my hand," Leo lied as he passed another coffee mug to his brother, who accepted it silently. The pouring water from the faucet sounded so much like a showerhead that it twisted his gut into knots. The shower was always running as soon as Mikey gathered enough strength of mind to leave the confines of his room. Nobody acknowledged the miserable sounds that squeezed passed the closed door and running water. They didn't know how.

"April's now?"

The bathroom loomed across the kitchen's wall, but he ignored it. He didn't want to walk in there quite yet. Leo nodded as he dried off his reddened hands, "Yeah."

No amount of cleaning could get the lair back to the way it was, but he felt that it made a difference. Even if it was just a small one.

* * *

A/N- I didn't realize that I wrote almost the SAME EXACT SCENE in this story as I did the last, so I just had to add that last line. I'm not sure if that's breaking the fourth wall or not, I don't think that it is. You can thank Connie Nervegas on the help with writing the Soap Opera stuff, which is apparently what actually happened in a show, no joke. I know that the ending is a little rushed and not as emotionally intense as the first part, but I think that I spent most of my energy for the first part. Heh heh heh. So I may or may not go in and touch up the last two parts. Not quite sure yet. I'm trying to be vague enough about the past week so that it's not muddled and dragging down, but clear enough to understand. So any advice on that is much helpful! Hope you enjoyed the first chapter, and hope to hear from ya'll. I'm off to bed!


	2. Unfullfilled Justice

_Just got off from work at Burger King. Nine hour shift with no break makes a delirious writer, so good luck with reading this! And don't ask for smoothies. Just don't. _

_I do not own Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles: Nickelodeon does._

* * *

Unfulfilled Justice

"Can you look at me?" Donatello asked quietly. Flickers of emotion swept across his brother's face, odd contusions that may have been funny on another occasion only caused a bubble of grief to grow in his stomach. His brother's lips moved soundlessly as his eyes swept across the room and rested on him. There was recognition there, and his brother nodded solemnly with his eyes downcast. It wasn't much, but it was a definite sign of improvement. At least he didn't scream and leave the room.

"Sorry."

Still can't get him to stop apologizing though, Don noted grimly as he took his brother's hands into his to begin removing the thick bandages there, "How are your hands, are they stiff at all?"

"A little," Mikey admitted as his face contorted into what Don assumed to be a mixture of grief and confusion, "They won't... rot and fall off, will they?"

"No, why would you think that?"

"Nothing. Sorry."

Don sighed. A pearly white salve covered the majority of his hands, to make the healing process quicker and less painful. The impaling injuries were healing well enough, but there was still major bruising throughout the hands. He began to re-bandage the injuries. His brother was extremely stiff under his scrutinizing gaze, but Don ignored his brother's response as he carefully examined the blistering burns that were slowing coming to heal. Definite scarring.

"Any nausea, light headedness?" Don knew he wasn't eating as he should, his face and neck looked pale and thin, like the skin was stretched too tightly across his bones.

His brother's eyes were distant as his fingers fiddled with his knee pads, as if they had a mind of their own. Don's mouth pulled into a grim line as he snapped his fingers in front of Mikey's face, "Mikey, please pay attention. I know that this is going to be hard for you, but I need to make sure that you don't have early signs of an infection," he added as he laid the back of his hand against Mikey's forehead. Normal temperature, for them, at least.

"Sorry."

Don waited several moments before grimacing slightly at the strange, neurotic behavior patterns that his brother displayed. Nervous fiddling, darting eyes, and the soundless mumblings put him on an awkward edge. He didn't quite know how to handle this situation. Should he be gentle and try to coax his brother, or be more aggressive in an attempt to snap him out of it?

"Have you felt or feel any nausea or lightheadedness? Mikey." No response, his brother's face twitched at the mouth and his eyes lowered towards the ground. "... Is there..."

"No! How many times are you going to ask me?" His brother snapped, the sound causing a jolt of shock through his system as he took a step back. Mikey's face instantly crumpled as he rubbed his arms obsessively and whispered quietly, "Sorry, sorry..."

"No, no. It's fine," Don reassured him as he furrowed his brows thoughtfully. Throughout most of this check up, his brother's eyes almost always ended up staring at the wall behind him. There had to be something there, even if Donatello himself could not see it. "Mike... What do you see on the wall, over there?" He turned his body slightly, to give his brother a better view, "Do you see anything?"

Mikey shook his head, eyes wide as he wrung the tails of his bandana in his hands nervously. "Nothing. No, I don't see anything. It's nothing."

Possibly hallucinations, but no sign of fever so most likely not a bacterial or viral problem. Most likely psychological, which meant that there could be far more symptoms. He wasn't trained in this field and would have to try to find some online documentaries that you could study on. Don didn't won't to experiment with psychological drugs, especially when he had little to no experience in the matter. He rubbed the inside corners of his eyes as pressure began to build, "Are any of your other injuries giving you much pain?"

"I'm fine," his brother mumbled, scratching at several of the blistering scabs. "They don't hurt that bad." Mikey's mouth twitched at the corners, "I've even got a scab collection building. Going to build the Eiffel Tower by the end of this week."

Chuckling, he reached over to a makeshift nightstand and gathered a tall stack of papers. "Make sure you build a steady foundation, or the you'll just end up with your room flooded with scabs. I can't imagine Leo being too pleased."

"Am I stupid?"

The question was so sudden, he was taken aback at first. "No, I don't think you're stupid, Mikey. Just... unstable."

"Lying. He's lying. Why would he lie? I'm not stupid, he said. But he didn't say that," Mikey whispered sharply to himself as he rubbed his temples with a pained expression, "Don, you've got to help me. I can't... I can't..."

"Just calm down and focus, Mikey. You can't what?"

"Nothing!" He snapped harshly as he leaped down from the cot, "Just, never mind! I can't deal with all of this... talking!"

"I only asked a few questions, that's hardly any reason to react so strongly," Don countered with his eyes narrow. There was more here than his brother was revealing, that was obvious. His brother stood, eyes crazed and expression tormented as he paced around the room like a caged animal. Don watched him for a few moments, licking the outside of his now paper-dry mouth, "Who else is talking?"

"I don't know..." His brother all but moaned before flinching as if being stung, "I don't know anything anymore! I can't... I can't _do_ anything! It's like I'm completely useless!"

"You're not useless, Mikey. We-"

"You can't just SAY it, Don! That... It's always said! All there is right now is talking. I just want everything to be quiet!" Mikey gripped the sides of his bandana and crouched low with his head hidden between his knees, "I just want them all to stop it. Everybody to stop."

Donatello didn't speak, didn't move, didn't even think as he watched his brother with a heavy heart. Minutes passed that seemed like hours as his brother slowly began to gather him and calm down. The breathing shallowed and the erratic twitching ceased enough for him to laboriously stand and lean on the infirmary cot for support. Don didn't move still, he didn't want to upset his brother another time. Anything, just to keep him stable.

"I'm... I'm fine now. Sorry."

"That's... that's alright. Can I ask-"

"No, please... just no questions. I just need to be alone."

"Alright. I'll leave you too that then. Anything you need?"

"A hot shower," Mike said with heavy feeling as he turned and walked out of the infirmary without another word.

Don couldn't find it in himself to be animate for several more minutes, just standing there dumbfounded as he stared blankly before him at nothing in particular. This wasn't his life. It was like they froze his former life, replaced it with this Hell Dimension and forced him to live in it. His brother couldn't be schizophrenic, it just was't possible. Not Mikey, not the brother who can take down a twenty foot alien warrior and belch the entire Golden Girl's theme song.

A loud buzzing filled the room as his mind gathered itself enough to return to reality. He was printing off papers. Briskly walking over to the printer, he picked up the heavy stack of printed sheets. The papers slammed on his desk, which bucked under the force and weight. He was so stupid. There was always some hidden variable that he didn't see. Some problem that he wasn't finding. Always _something._.

Eyes quickly scanning and going over the paper work, he memorized the times, addresses, and schedules printed out before holding the papers over a steel wastebasket. Turning to retrieve his weathered duffle bag from his desk, he dug around to find a matchbox and struck a single match. The head sparked and burst into flame before he tossed it into the pile of papers. Flames licked the bottom of the waste basket as they quickly feasted on the inked blotched pieces of paper. A colorful array of blues, yellows, and orange flickered before him. Even among the crackling fire, he could still see his face. Cold, pale, and completely passive. That wasn't the face he was supposed to see when he finally met him. He was supposed to see the same sick, twisted man that toyed with him for all of those weeks.

He wasn't supposed to be dead.

* * *

Steven Carter. Caucasian male aged at forty-five with brown hair and hazel eyes. Normal looking enough, with no real distinguishing features. Nothing to put him apart from the rest of society. Nothing to hide from.

"Wake up." Iced water was thrown onto the man from a plastic cup that Donatello kept in the cupboards of this beaten down hunter's cabin. The man spluttered and hacked wetly as he squirmed in his rope bindings. He wouldn't escape, Don had too many years of experience with tying prisoner knots. "If you're contemplating screaming, I'd advise to save your breath. Nobody can hear you out here."

"What the hell is this? Where am I? Who the fuck are you?" The man whipped his head around as much as his neck would allow, but Don was well hidden. Always in the shadows. "Why am I here anyways? If this is about me being served, I don't have that kind of money! I can pay in payments of like seventy-five bucks a month, but that's it."

"You're not being sued, idiot.," Don rolled his eyes with a sarcastic drawl, "Not unless prosecutors now hire out people to take hostages in an secluded shack just to serve them, because we all know how efficient _that_ is."

"How do you know my name? What is this! Let me go! I am so suing your ass after this! I have the best attorney in this fucking district!"

"Answer a few of my questions, and I'll release you." Don sat lazily up in the rafters of the small cabin, well hidden from the man's view from below with all light sources snuffed out. "Abigail Parkman, tell me about her."

"... What?" His angry tone was instantly replaced with one of a nervous fear, "I... I don't know what the fuck you're talking about. You have the wrong man! I was judged as innocent, asshole."

"I'm not part of this country's Justice System. I have my own rules on what Justice is, Steven. And if you want to keep your teeth inside your head, you better start confessing," Don threatened from above as he watched his victim squirm in his seat below him. The scene was sickening.

"I wasn't even eighteen! I got drunk at a party and... and so what? I fucked up. That was almost thirty years ago!"

Don dropped down from the rafters silently and approached the man from behind to speak quietly in his ear, "Do you know where she is now?"

"No, why should I? I haven't talked to her since the trial. Probably shacked up with that Tommy kid, right? I think they were an item or something back in High School."

"She's dead," Don's tone turned venomous at the stiffening of the man's spine, "Committed suicide three years after you walked free. She overdosed on heroine."

"So what? I didn't make her do the drugs! That was her own damn fault," his voice shook with anxiety, "We were both drunk, she probably didn't even remember what had happened!"

"Why did you do it?"

"I don't know! She was the one who was all over me. Probably to get that Tommy guy jealous, I don't know. We..." The man licked his lips, his face pale with tinges of green around his eyes. He looked nauseous. "I... I don't know why I did it. We were getting pretty heavy, I guess. Lots of touching and I was really getting into it when she pulled back. Said something about Tommy and that's when I realized that the bitch was just playing me," the man jumped when Don placed a hand to the side of his neck, "I... I don't know. Something snapped or something and I just lost it. I... I wouldn't let her..." The man shuddered as he choked out a pathetic sob, "I'm so sorry... I didn't know."

His pulse was racing under his fingers, like a caught rabbit. "Not as sorry as she was. After that trial she dropped out of High School. Joined in the wrong crowd who took advantage of her like you did. She didn't even have a chance because you stole that from her. You ruined her life, why? Because of jealousy?"

"She shouldn't have played me like that!"

"And that's reason enough to rape her?"

"No... No, it's not."

Now for the messy part. The part that always made his skin crawl in disgust. Don left the man alone for several minutes, sobbing to himself. The latter years of his life were always so full of death. Came with the training, Don supposed. The art of assassination was taught to him at a young age. They had to always be ready to take a life, before one of theirs was taken. But this wasn't a battle. This was an execution. He wasn't fighting to protect his own life or another's. He was here for...

"I thought that you were going to release me..." The man sounded miserable.

"I am." Duct Tape ripped off the roll as he walked back over to the man. He took no care to hide the sound of his footfalls now and he could see beads of sweat trickling down the back of the man's neck. None of this was right. Nothing was ever right. Not anymore. "Close your eyes."

The man did as he was told and Don placed a plastic sack over his head while securing the bottom with the tape. An air-proof seal. The man realized instantly, bucking his body around in one last feeble attempt to free himself. Donatello stepped away. He could never stomach to watch. Turning away with his insides writhing in disgust, he made his way over towards a trap door and climbed down. Old blood filled the air. The rotten, coppery smell made him want to gag but he sat down there regardless. He could hear nothing from down here, but that was no relief because he could picture in his mind far too clearly what was transpiring upstairs.

He should go and free him. Just give him a near death experience. The man might not do it again, most likely won't. But that doesn't take away the fact that Abigail killed herself. That his brother lost his mind. That Jimmy was dead and not suffering like he should be.

The smell of blood was strong, it made his senses cringe and strengthen his resolve. This was his brother's blood. He didn't even need to take tests. He found the railroad pikes that were impaled in his brother's hands. His brother was delirious and sobbing when he spoke of this place in one of his feverish outbreaks. Don didn't think it existed at first, until he found it after three days of searching through the wooded areas far outside of the city. He hated this place, almost burned it to the ground when he thought of the idea to punish those who have done wrong and escaped for it. That wasn't justice. He read the reports on all of the victim's families. What hardships they had to go through.

What his family has to go through. It was all wrong. Five minutes has passed by since he entered the basement of the hunter's shack. That was more than enough time for the man to suffocate to death. Climbing back up the ladder, Don made his way over to the body to see with surprise that the man actually managed to slip from the ropes. The wrists were bloodied and broken, but he couldn't pull off the duct tape from his neck in time to stop his own death. Now he's dead. Like her.

Twisting his head slightly, Don looked again at the pale and passive face of the man before him. Almost looked like Jimmy. They both had the same expression. Now there was one less rapist in the world. One less family broken.

Donatello left the shack, still missing the piece that he was searching for. Maybe with the next killing; maybe with his next victim will he find Jimmy Candlesmith.

* * *

**A/N- ... Brain dead. What else more is there to say?**


	3. Unwanted Guests

_I decided to experiment more with the voices part. This was interesting, because I was going to originally have it really short but ended up expanding on it a lot and was writing until two in the morning because I don't want to sleep. I have wisdom teeth out later tommo-I mean, TODAY and so I write. A lot. This is a longer chapter, and I'll try to keep them more consistent in length, but whatever. It's only a little over 3,000 words. Heh heh heh. Hope you like my attempt at deep, angsting conversations!_

* * *

Unwanted Guests

_Cut it off._ _It's rotting. It's going to kill you if you don't cut it off. Why aren't you cutting it off? Do you want to die? You're going to die now. Nobody will care. You're so worthless. Just cut it off._

Page sixteen had brilliantly displayed pictures of his childhood idols fighting the endless battle against whatever evil the author decided to make up for this issue. This time was the attack of the stone giants from Dimension X.

_You're going to die. You're so worthless. You deserve to die. It's rotting. Cut it off. Cut it off._

The page tore in his fingers as bright red droplets of blood smeared across the paper to hide the Silver Sentries face. His hands were still stiff and made it hard to do simply tasks. He wasn't crazy.

"Don told me not too," Mike said with his voice strained with fear, "They're not rotting. He took care of them."

_Rotting. They're going to rot and kill you. He reeks of death. He just wants you dead. Just like the others._

He knew that wasn't true. He knew even as iced shivers raced down his body. He knew it wasn't true. Couldn't be true.

_They're all lying. They want you dead. They hate you. Going to kill you._

Standing up abruptly and chucking the prized comic book across the room to fall in a heap on the floor, he hurried out of his room and headed towards the Dojo. He had to keep moving. He couldn't stop and just listen to them.

_Going to kill you. Not safe. Not safe. Going to die._

Jab. Jab. Right hook. Fall into the rhythm. The sand filled bag swung wildly from the chain as Mikey side stepped out of the bag's path and jabbed it again with his left fist.

_Rotting. Cut it off. Going to die. Cut it off. _

"I'm not going to do what you want," Mikey snarled through clenched teeth as each word was accompanied by a violent punch towards the bag, "So just _shut the hell up_," he finished with a angry shout as the bag's material ripped towards the top and hurtled it's body against the Dojo wall. Sand swam over the battered tatami mats that they accumulated over the years.

_Cut it off. Cut it off. Cut it off._

It's chanting now. Never leaving. Not even a moment of piece. Crying out again as he slammed his foot against the base of the bag to send it flying across the room once more. His family was going to think he's some freak. Some freak who's hearing voices and can't control himself.

_Die. Going to die and leave you. They hate you._

There were never this many responses before. They were even quiet, at first. Now each thought that was not his own pounded into the back of his skull like a jack hammer on steroids.

"What's the racket in here for?" A door slid open and footsteps hesitated outside the entrance, "Oh… Uh… Hey, Mike. Were you talking to somebody? Nevermind. That was stupid. There's nobody here. You kicked the shit out of the punching bag though."

_Going to kill you. Don't trust him. Don't look at him. Why are you turning your head? Keep your eyes down! He knows what you did. He hates you. _

He kept his eyes down as he turned his head slowly to follow the trail of sand that now littered the Dojo floor. "Sorry, Raph. I'll clean it up."

"No, I can do it. Just… don't move. Or something. I don't care."

_He hates you. Wants you dead. Hands are rotting. Cut it off._

Mikey stood as still as stone while his brother scurried about to clean up the mess. He should help. He should move to talk to him, anything. Shame heated his face as his stood dumbly in the center of the dojo as the voices bickered on in the back of his mind. He had to ignore them.

"See? Not even a problem, man. Do your hands hurt? Don just left, but I guess I can look at them or something. Do you want me to get Leo or Splinter?"

Push them back. Don't let them talk. They need to shut up. Gritting his teeth enough to taste copper in his mouth, he shook his head. His brother mumbled something that was lost in the storms of his mind. He clenched his fists tight enough to feel the knuckles pop painfully.

"I'm fine," Mikey said through clenched teeth. He could taste blood. Forcing himself to meet his brother's eyes, he swallowed in embarrassment at the mixture of grief and confusion that he saw there. The uncertainty was so wrong, like a stranger was watching him through paned glass. Like he was a freak.

_He hates you. Going to kill you. Not safe. Not safe. Cut it off._

Raph took a hesitant step forward and he could see his brother's eyes dart down around his torso. "Stop twisting your hands up like that, you'll screw up those bandages. Don put those on you, right? Do they itch or something?"

_Cut it off. It's rotting. Cut it off_.

"It's fine." He repeated himself. Just a broken record. His brother scratched his beak awkwardly and leaned back slightly, as if trying to put some distance between them. Mikey hated that. "No… No, it's not fine."

_Don't talk. Shut your mouth. Don't open your mouth. Why are you opening your mouth? _

"Okay," Raph licked his lips and puckered his mouth slightly as if in trying to solve a difficult problem.

"They want me to cut them off. My hands, I mean." Mikey started as he self-consciously tried to stop peeling off the bandages on his hands. "Like they're going to rot and kill me."

"Don't do that!"

"I'm not! It's not like I'm crazy. Because I'm not," Mikey swallowed a lump the size of the moon in his throat, "I'm not crazy. You know that, right?"

His brother watched him for several moments before shifting around awkwardly and nodding stiffly. "Yeah, Mikey. I don't think you're crazy."

_Lying. Always lying. Hates you. Going to kill you. Not safe. Not safe. _

He almost wanted to ask, to get some conformation that the voice was wrong. That it was just lying, trying to make him crazy and hurt himself. Mikey wouldn't give it the satisfaction of thinking that it made him believe it.

"So… What did you mean by saying _them_?"

_Shut your mouth. Don't talk. Don't say anything. He's going to kill you. He hates you_.

Mikey sat down, folding his legs under his body like he was five and waiting for a lesson from his father. His brother copied him and the sat silently for several moments, the unanswered question dangling in front of Mikey's face like a vengeful spider.

"I hear voices, in my head." The confession lit the voices up like an angry bee hive and he flinched painfully at the onslaught, "They're pretty loud. I don't like them."

"They sound like assholes to me," Raph gnawed on his bottom lip, "Do they tell you to, you know, hurt yourself and all that?"

He nodded with his eyes prickling hotly as the pain in his head intensified to a heavy throbbing, a base drum beating in his skull. "But I don't listen to them. So you don't have to look at me like that, I hate it when you guys do that. It's like you think I'm somebody else or something. It sucks."

"It's not like we mean to. I mean, fuck, Mikey… This is some weird ass shit. What I mean is that it's… messed up. It ain't right."

"Yeah, I know. You're the first one I told though. They seem to really get upset whenever I talk, so I try not to."

Raph sat up straighter and rubbed the back of his neck, "Who cares if they get upset? They don't matter anyways. You know that whatever they say isn't true, right?"

"I know," Mikey nodded, his eyes flickering towards the floor out of habit before raising his head again. "It's just that I care because having crazy people screaming at you isn't the most pleasant feeling, you know?"

"I can get that. What do they sound like anyways? Do you think you know any of them?" His voice turned cold with suspicion and had a dark edge that Mikey didn't like hearing from his brother.

Mikey shrugged, "I don't know them. At least, I don't recognize what any of them sound like. Sometimes I think it's a girl, sometimes it sounds more like a dude. I guess it depends on what's being said? I don't know."

"Is there anything else besides the voices? Because I don't know anything about that schizophrenic stuff. This better not last that much longer," Raph groaned as he looked towards the ceiling and swore under his breath, "I didn't mean like how it sounded. What I was trying to say is-"

"I know, I don't really want it to last forever either." Mikey's eyes lowered to stare blankly at his feet tucked under his shins. "I wouldn't expect you guys to deal with it forever either," he added at a low mumble.

"What? What did you say after that? What about us? We can handle whatever as long as we need too, Mikey. You don't have to be all worrying and shit just because we're all stupid and can't act right around you."

Mikey said nothing. He almost argued, almost told him straight up that this wasn't the type of grief that he could pressure his family with. It wasn't like he was blind; that he couldn't see the shuffled glances and nervous gestures every time he entered a room. He couldn't live with his family if they only walked on eggshells around him. He wasn't family then, he would only be a hindrance. That crazy brother who locked himself in his room and never talked. He didn't want to be that guy. He didn't want to hurt his family anymore.

_Hates you. They all hate you_.

Mikey groaned, rubbing his sore eyes as the flood of alien voices plagued his mind. They were quiet for a while, at least. That gave him some strength, some fire in his belly as he unfolded his legs and stood on his feet. "I'm gonna go."

"Want me to come with?" His brother looked up at him, his usual guarded face almost frantic with confusion and anxiety. "Not that I'm following you. You can have your own space; it's just that I don't want… I mean, that you shouldn't… Oh, fuck it. Nevermind. Do what you want."

"I'm just going into my room, dude. I'll be fine. Really," Mikey gave his best assuring smile that he could and shuffled out of the room to escape the worrisome eyes drilling into the back of his head. He hands shook as he walked back towards his room. The distance was small but made his limbs weary. Mikey's hands shook as he turned the knob on his door and opened it, stepping into the familiar darkness that he had grown accustomed too.

The room was dark and had a musky scent in the air. He sat on his bed. Alone. He stared at the concrete floor. Alone. Hot, salty water dribbled down his chin. Alone.

_Kill you. Not safe. Hands rotting. Cut it off. Not safe. Going to kill you. Hate you. Not safe. _

_Worthless. _

_Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. _

_Freak._

All he wanted to be was alone. All he ever hated was to be alone.

He didn't really know what to hate anymore.

* * *

The lair was suffocating. After he watched his troubled brother leave the Dojo, the walls seemed to creep towards him on their own. Trapping him. Forcing himself to wait several minutes before leaving himself, Raph took off towards the kitchen and snorted as his refined brother's backside stuck outside of the fridge. His upper half of his body was crammed into the chilly metal box.

"If you're looking for that fake milk, or whatever white shit that it is you drink, I dumped it down the drain a couple days back. It was stinking up the whole fridge, Leo. So don't even start on harping on me about it."

His brother twisted his body as he pulled his head out of the fridge so that the rim of his eyes could glare at him from above the door, "I happen to be changing a light bulb. The fridge light kept on going out and I got sick of it. I'll let you dumping my soy milk down the drain slide for now, only because I'm not in the mood to kick your ass."

Raph stood awkwardly as he fiddled with his right elbow pad. He could already hear the obnoxious light bulb jokes rattling in the back of his mind, but said nothing. That just wasn't his kind of joke and he didn't feel like telling it. Raph closed the door slightly on his brother in a teasing gesture, "Don squirmed out of your hands when you asked him to do it?"

"No, I'm perfectly able to change the fridge light myself."

"You sure? Because I'm sure I can find his lurking ass around here somewhere."

"Yes, I'm sure. Besides, Don hasn't been around the lair for more than a couple of hours these past two weeks," Leo finished with a slight bitterness to his tone, "Nobody seems to really want to stay around down here. I can't blame them though. Have you noticed that April hasn't been down here at all?"

"Yeah, but it's not like she don't have better shit to do. Doesn't she have those night classes she goes too? I think her professor showed up in a corset and heels one class. He was hitting on her or something, right? I keyed his BMW for that shit. Bastard is at least a decade older than her!"

"I've got it," Leo said as he closed the fridge door with the old, broken light bulb in his hand. "What were you saying about April's class again? I couldn't hear you over the fridge."

"Nevermind."

The air was stale and the silence always seemed too heavy to bear. Raph cleared his throat and nodded towards the front door of the lair, "You done fixing up everything then? I don't think that the old Battle Shell has been taken out for awhile. We could take it for a spin."

His brother gave him an amused look, "And you're not demanding this? How kind of you," Leo smiled slightly as he walked past his brother, "As long as I'm the one driving, then there will be no issue."

Raph balked and stomped after him with a snarl, "Whatever. I'm not going to sit there and wait as you take your damn time on four ways. You don't have to wait for old people to go first."

"No, maybe not but at least it's good manners."

"Manners? It's a four way! If you wait for another person to go, even if they are old, it screws up the whole thing! There's a system to it, dumbass."

The lair door was opened and the musky, familiar stench of the sewers hit him full in the face. He barely noticed. His brother didn't respond and he internally groaned at the apparently high sensitivity of his brother. He _really_ didn't want to apologize. "You're mute now too, Leo? I can't believe you got all pissy just because I called you a dumbass. Stop being such a bitch."

Leo sighed and rolled his eyes in exasperation, "That's not it. I just got sidetracked, limpdick. And don't call me a bitch, I own your ass."

His snort expanded into full laughter as his brother joined and the loud noises echoed off the rounded, sewer ceiling and stone walls. They settled back into an easy quiet that was almost peaceful, as the murky water flowed past and the overhanging mold covered the stained stonework around them. It was a long walk.

When they did reach the garage, they didn't waste time to bicker over who got to drive because Raph bodily forced his way into the driver's seat and his brother didn't care enough to object. The engine rumbled beneath his fingers as he turned the ignition key. Raph remotely opened the garage door, backed out, and tore down the street like his wheels were on fire.

Leo fiddled with the radio before finally settling down to some old fashioned Wuutang-Clan rap, "This is more your type of music, right?"

"I don't care. Play whatever, as long as it's not that hippy crap with all the heavy breathing."

His brother kept the radio as it was while Raph's fingers drummed on the steering wheel to the rhythmic beat. The lights of the city were drowned out with the shaded windows of the Battle Shell, far darker than the legal limit; Raph was always surprised that they have yet to be pulled over for it. Good for them since that meant another relatively safe haven for them to travel along.

He didn't pay attention to which direction he was going. Raph told himself that he was searching for Don, but he didn't scan any rooftops as he drove. He would occasional glance over at his brother who stared out his window at an angle where Raph couldn't catch his expression. He probably wouldn't have liked it anyways.

Streetlamps and the colorful traffic lights became more scarce, along with the headlights from oncoming and receding vehicles as the city drew further and further behind them. Only the long, winding curves of the highway awaited them. The speedometer rose on the elongated asphalt and the engine stuttered in protest. Leo shifted in his seat and nodded towards the dashboard.

"Did you hear that? The engine isn't overheating, is it?

Raph cranked up the heating fans in the vehicle and checked the temperature gauge. "What the hell? Temperature is just fine but the gas pedal has no pressure."

"We're slowing down… Why are we stopping? Don't stop in the middle of the road! At least pull off to the shoulder, Raph." Leo reached for the Katana strapped to his back habitually as his body tensed stiffly. "Is there anybody coming? This could be an ambush."

"Fuck," Raph swore as he slapped the steering wheel uselesslly, "This isn't any damn ambush. We ran out of gas."

Leo sighed dejectedly and pinched the inside corners of his eyes as if he had a migraine coming on, "I'd rather we be ambushed. How did we run out of gas?"

"The engine runs and it uses up gas. Not that hard to figure out, Leo."

"That's not what I meant! I was more along the lines of how we ended up here, in this situation."

"… We ran out of gas."

It was a dumbass remark, but it was better than screaming about how they shouldn't be stuck in the middle of nowhere like idiots. Or how he couldn't seem to bring up in conversation to tell him that Mikey was hearing voices. Or how he can't have a decent conversation with Don without it blowing up in his face. Or how he can't get the courage to meet his father in the eye, let alone speak about anything with him. There was too much to say, to say anything at all. So they sat in silence.

The air in the cabin became more stuffy and congested with every passing second, so Raph rolled down his window and stuck his head out partially. Raph lazily dangled his arm out of the driver's window, taking in the sites of the black lines of trees surrounding the high way. The darkness looked like a giant mouth to him, just waiting to eat them all up. His brother was rubbing his temples again; Raph seriously contemplated having him get checked for brain cancer, or whatever it was called. That many headaches a day was not normal and the slight shaking to his hands set Raph on edge with nerves. He couldn't let his brother have a mental breakdown.

"I can't let Don keep up his disappearing act every night."

Raph shifted in his seat, not catching or looking for his brother's eye. "Is that your call though? We don't really know what shit he's been through. Maybe he just needs space."

"For over two weeks? He's had plenty of space. As the leader of this family, I can't keep accepting this type of behavior. I didn't accept it from you and I sure as hell won't let Don do as he pleases," Leo's mouth tightened into a grim line, "Something is wrong with him, I can feel it. I don't know what exactly, but I'm going to find out."

"Yeah, right. What are you going to do? Stalk him wherever he goes?"

"Yes, and plot down every position he stops at. There's got to be some reason he's out there every night. He's not the same as you, Raph. You have to stop thinking that. If Don is going to be topside constantly, there's going to be a reason. I promise you it's not to just get some fresh air."

"Why not? Everybody could sure use some," he bickered as he breathed heavily through his nostrils, "It's like somebody died down there."

Leonardo swallowed loudly and Raph could see his brother's Adam Apple bobble in his throat, "Not yet."

* * *

**A/N- Now, my 'editing' consisted of going over to make sure I didn't have any huge spelling errors like made up words, and to make sure that it sounds... semi-readable. It's late. I may or may not come back to touch up on this. Probably not. I tend to just let crappy chapters live and never get back to them. Heh heh heh. **


	4. Empty Seats

_This took a little longer to write than I thought it would, but it is also well over four thousand words, so my chapters in general have become longer. Not sure if this is good or bad, I'll have to rely on my readers to tell me that, I guess. I have no actual plot to this story, so what I do think of is on-the-fly and would explain why it wouldn't sound that well thought out. Heh heh heh. _

* * *

Empty Seats

Journalism as a minor was probably not the wisest of choices for college. The night classes were brutal and the professor was far past simply eccentric. The man was middle aged and wore a teddy under his Shakespearean robe. April was still reeling from the surprise that the man was happily married with three children. She never would have guessed.

Playing over her television set, the old fashioned glass screen and thick body giving poor quality to the picture, was the evening news broadcasting a special. Turning up the volume with her pen and paper ready for notes, she grimaced at the thought of writing a twenty-thousand word essay on tonight's special. April hoped that the flea market scandal over on Kennedy Avenue was over; she wouldn't put it past her professor to require her to write an essay on underpriced toaster ovens squandered from the black market.

"_The number of victims has escalated to more than fifteen this past week. Authorities say that the victims range from the late twenties to early fifties in age. All victims thus far have been male and formerly charged on various degrees of sexual assault. Criminal Profilers on the case already have several theories on the identity on the killer. Most claim the killer to be a female, although none have found any solid evidence towards any known suspect…" _

April scribbled what she could from the report and kept in the back of her mind how she would interrogate the serial killer. The assignment was different from her past majors as a bioengineer and computer programmer for Stockman. Her first job, and what is looking to be her last at this point, was her only future job referenced. This ruined her reputation because Stockman was regarded as an egotistical megalomaniac who attempted to take down the foundations of the entire city with his Mouser inventions. Never a good topic to bring up in a job interview. If Stockman's entire research leaked into public, she may even be arrested. h

So, she went in for something completely new, completely differently, and completely cheap. April sighed as the broadcast was switched over to political debates and the future prospects of venison ranches. Switching off the television with her remote, she popped her back as she walked into the kitchen to prepare and heat a cup of ramen. Casey came back from Minnesota only a few days ago and already he was back to work. Wearing advertising doughnuts and cellphone costumes had little pride in standing outside all day for money, but it kept half of the roof over their heads. The other half went to her greasy job at some imitation Mexican restaurant whose name she couldn't pronounce.

The microwaved beeped at her and she removed the hot, watery package of instant chicken noodles and sat at the table with her fork, staring mindlessly at the hot trails of steam being pumped out from the top. All around her were empty seats. It was so quiet and lonely these nights when she didn't have class, that it was all she could do not to call one of them up just to talk. She didn't want to bother them though. She knew they were a strong family and would pull through.

Steam made her eyes water as she rubbed them and then pushed away the hot cup with a soft groan, "What are you doing, April? Stop crying," she admonished herself and smiled slightly as the sound of her father's voice filtered so well into her tone. Talking to herself again.

Her eyes moved over the row of empty chairs in front of her, every one she passed brought her frown down lower and lower until her forehead was pressed into the warm wood of the table to stop from sniffling. The others were the only family she had of late, besides Casey himself, and he was always at work on some dead-end job. She didn't know how many times she picked up her special phone, given to her by Donatello himself, with the intent to call and then just staring at the dial-pad mindlessly. She wondering if Don had gotten better, he looked so tired and stretched the last time she saw him over at that factory. All she knew was that they found Mikey, not where, not even necessarily when.

April only visited the lair once, and she was sure not to make a second trip. She didn't want to put pressure on the others to accompany her, and she had no idea how to help them. So she was left with stupid night classes, with stupid job, and stupid bills. Maybe she should go out to the park. It was nighttime, but maybe some ducks were still around to be fed, although she doubted it. She probably didn't even have the bread to spare anyways, she realized with a twisted chuckle.

"Am I interrupting, Miss O'Niel?"

She jumped from her chair with surprise at the voice, bumping the table hard enough with her knee to yelp and sending the ramen cup falling towards the ground. No spillage followed as a furred hand snatched it from the air with enough speed to make her blink in a dumbfounded awe that always seemed to associate itself with Hamato Splinter.

"Splinter! It's- Oh! Watch your hand there, the water is hot. Here, I'll grab a bowel. Are you hungry? I have… ramen. That's about it, I haven't gotten to the store just yet. Sorry for the mess, I haven't really been around to clean up…" April babbled as she scuffled around the kitchen in attempt to distract the rat from the piles of dirty dishes or splotches of food not wiped up for several hours, or days. "Here, you can sit down! The chairs are probably dusty by all the company I've had so far," She finished with an empty laugh and placed a plastic bowl down on the table. "I have chicken or beef for ramen. Sorry, I just haven't-"

"This is perfectly alright, Miss O'neil, thank you for the food. I am sorry to say I am actually not in the mood to eat, however. I came here for, ah… Advice, if you will."

"Oh, right. Sorry. I just haven't seen any of you in so long and," April fumbled with the bowl as she picked it from the table, taking no forethought into sticking it into one of her cupboards normally reserved for cereal, "… Sorry. I just, well… I missed you. All of you, a lot. I know that sounds needy, but it's true. You're the closest family I have right now," she finished with an apologetic smile and sat down next to him, reaching out to pat the top of his furred hand, "I don't know how I can help, but I'll do whatever I can, Splinter. It's great to see you."

"It is good to see you as well, April." His eyes were weary, but soft and warm as well. He bowed his head politely and smiled, "Times have been hard as of late, and I myself have been meditating over how to deal with such, ah- delicate issues."

April nodded as her hand tightened slightly in worry, "Should I even ask? I can't possibly imagine anybody being okay after…" She swallowed past a heavy lump in her throat, "Is he well? I know it's silly to ask."

"Michelangelo is doing far better than I thought possible." Splinter said with what she took as pride in his voice, "He is very strong even against such formidable enemies. His mind, body, and spirit have all been hurt greatly so, but he still fights. I have even taken to having light conversations with him. I can still see my son and that is a great sight for such an old rat like myself," he added with a bright light in his weathered eyes, "It gives me hope for his future, which I don't believe is as dark as what I believed it to be."

April sported a relieved grin and patted the back of his hand enthusiastically, "That's great to hear! I was really, _really_… worried."

She was far beyond being worried, the single time she visited the lair since Mikey was brought back was the same time that she witnessed what he looked like. Physically, she could see more of the inside of his skin than the outside. Innumerable and horrible wounds covered his body and she didn't think that any person would be able to heal from something so intense. April could still hear the mindless babbling and terrified sounds coming from their bathroom, in her mind. Those weren't the sounds of somebody whose sanity was still intact. She honestly thought that he was gone for good, and that was why she had taken to avoiding the lair. April realized then that they needed as much time as possible to heal.

"No, this visit is because I am concerned over Donatello's state of mind," Splinter continued with a grave tone, "He has become reclusive and ventures far outside home more often that what is healthy. I have dealt with similar situations with Raphael, but I must remind myself that they cannot be dealt with by the same manner."

April pursed her lips but said nothing at the strong internal feeling that there was something left out, some important piece of information missing. She hardly doubted that Splinter would come over to her for advice unless the situation was much more dire than he was letting on. Dealing with emotional and hormonal teenage boys was something he had been doing for the past seventeen years and was much more experienced in those affairs than herself.

"I don't want to sound too ignorant by suggesting to just confront Don about the issue, because I know Don. I love the guy, but his tongue is more crooked and twisted with honey than even the best politicians out there," She sucked slightly on her teeth in thought as she shifted around in her seat with discomfort, "Have you tried following him? I know that he wouldn't be the easiest to track, but if anybody could do it, it would be you, Splinter."

"I have on multiple occasions, and each time has shown me nothing other than Donatello's love for cemeteries and communing with the deceased Einstein. When I confronted him about the instance later, he seemed to not care and said simply that he gets bored at home and was just playing around with this- what did he call it… Ouija Board. Odd name for a board game, I must say."

"Ah…" April retracted her hand to tuck an invisible strand of hair behind her ear, "That's… different, I suppose. I can remember kids in my old class back in high school hanging around the cemetery around the witching hour. The local sheriff was always complaining about having to chase them around with a flashlight. He thought that they were looting the graves, when they were really just playing around with some witchcraft. Probably pretending to be necromancers, I'm not sure." Her eyes widened and she waved a hand dismissively at Splinter's concerned expression, "Not that I'm calling Don a necromancer! I'm sure that he wouldn't do anything like that."

Splinter said nothing as he folded his hands into his robed lap and gave a thoughtful nod towards her sink, "I am sure as well, Miss O'Neil. Perhaps it would be wisest for a direct confrontation. Donatello, even in this state of mind, is still the level headed thinker that I know him to be. He would not be able to evade me and his brothers so, if this was not the case." Splinter stood and moved to leave, but hesitated in the kitchen doorway with a warm look, "You may come and visit us, Miss O'Neil. I am sure that Michelangelo would be very pleased to see you. He has asked of you often, as well as Mr. Jones."

"Of course, I'd love to come by. Casey is at work now, but I'm sure he'll be off in a few hours. Maybe I can even get him to leave early," April stood as well with her head cocked to survey the room for her purse, "If only I could remember where I left my cell phone last."

Coincidence was remarkably high as her phone began to ring with a jingle from the Adam's Family. April laughed at her luck and quickly fetched her phone from on top of the fridge, not sure at all how it got there, and answered it. "Hello? I don't know this number. May I ask who is calling?"

"Your other phone didn't pick up, so I had to use a regular cell phone to reach this one. I'm actually borrowing somebody else's phone right now, and I have to be quick because I told him that I wouldn't take long," Leo's voice filtered through the small speaker.

Eyebrows popping up almost to her hairline, April hurried to grab her purse from the living room sofa while she searched for her keys. "Leo? What do you mean by 'out here'? How far out of the city are you, exactly?"

"Not that far, really. Only about fifty miles or so. The Battle Shell doesn't get very good mileage, I think that's because Don installed too many rocket launchers and tank armor in it."

April refrained from sighing into the receiver and picked her keys out of the remains of a Salisbury steak instant dinner and wiped the jingling metal on her overcoat. "Fifty miles? And that is outside of the city? That's going to be a two-hour drive, at the very least!"

"Oh… Okay." There was another voice on the other end who April could hardly recognize, "Stop yelling, Raph! She said that she can't come. No, we're not siphoning this man's gas after he let us use his phone. I don't care if his overbite is hard to look at; you're not exactly the most attractive person either. No, I'm not calling you ugly, although I'd hardly say that you were good looking. I am perfectly content with the way I look!"

"Leo, _Leo_!" April almost hissed into the phone as her patience began to wane, "Stop arguing with Raph and listen to me. I'll be there, but don't talk to anymore strangers! I don't know what possessed you to actually stop somebody on the highway to use their phone."

"This was an emergency, April. That and if there was any dishevel with the man, I would have knocked him out and hid the car on the roadside. Or hi-jacked it, I'm still contemplating what would be the most efficient way out of this situation."

"Don't steal his car!" April lowered her voice at the sight of Splinter's ears being pressed against the top of his head and his tail flickering behind him, "I mean, just… Just don't move. I'll be there as soon as I can."

"I wouldn't be stealing the car, April. I would only be borrowing it. I'm sure that I could find some identification for his address on his person to easily return the car when we were done with it. Not that it matters anymore," There was a pause as his voice lowered considerably. April was sure that he was holding the phone away from his mouth to yell, "You can stop ripping the hose out of Casey's old vacuum, Raph. We won't need it to siphon gas anymore. April's on her way."

Hefting her purse over her shoulder and hanging up on her teenage friend, she opened the front door of her apartment with her cellphone still in hand as she looked back over her shoulder. "Hey, Splint- Oh, never mind," she said into the empty apartment behind her.

Ninjas. She never knew what to do about them.

* * *

Hidden eyes and shuffled footsteps finally ceased from behind him as he made his way on foot towards the western docks, hoping to find a suitable means of transportation just outside of the Long Island harbor. It was well into the night and very few people scuttled around the wooden planks. His heavy clothing gave him ample coverage as he found a suitable perch above the main communication building that overlooked the dock.

Donatello leaned back against a satellite tower and watched for any signs of his soon-to-be company. The air was salty and dried out his mouth. He felt like a squid that sat out too long in the sun after almost an hour of waiting, and realizing that the man he was waiting for was late. He didn't care so much, the plan itself was made on the spot and he hardly believed that it would work anyways. Don knew that he couldn't use the same ploy repeatedly, that would be too easy to lead to who he was. Best to be online, where he dominated the cyber world and search for his prey through the internet. Chat-boxes filled with all degrees of scum lingered. All he needed was a name, and he could find whatever he needed to find under his fingertips.

Patience fading and impatient jitters getting the best of him, Donatello stood from his perch to pop his neck and prepare to leave. He should have realized sooner that this plan was sure to fail; it was his first attempt to lure a victim out by means of a fake identity online. It was better to get out of the lair, he figured. If he only left to get his hands covered in blood, his family would be on his trail like bloodhounds on a wounded raccoon. Best to take his time and play it cool.

Headlights entered the closed dock, regardless of warning signs of trespassing, as the cherry red Buick pulled up near the main communications building. The car was right below him, close enough to jump to. A man stepped out with a hand cupped over his eyes as he looked around the area.

"I'm not going to wait around forever, babe. I've got a schedule to keep."

The man of the hour; Rex Dover. Charged with several attempts of sexual harassment from multiple women, many of whom have died through injuries caused in the assault or suicide. This was the man that Don was sure he would feel no regret with disposing of.

A horn blared through the cold, salty air as the man leaned inside is car to shove his weight down on the steering wheel's horn. He released it only to yell out, "I'm not giving you any more time! I'm in a hurry and you're taking too damn long. I thought that we had a deal."

"You're right. We do," Don said briskly, as he knew that his words weren't heard by the man, but the future victim walked towards the building regardless. He neared the door and poked his head in front of the window, the office light giving just enough light to peer inside.

"I can see you in there. What the hell is taking you so long? Why is it so hard to teach women to be on time for anything?"

Don sat almost lazily over the edge of his building, his Bo Staff hanging in front of him with the tip downward and pointing towards the back of the man's head. Lightly flicking his wrist downwards, he let gravity do most of the work as the Bo hurtled downwards to strike the back of the man's crown, knocking him instantly unconscious. It was too easy. It was all far too easy.

Dropping down, he slung the Bo back over his back and dragged the man back to his car, throwing him into the passenger seat. Donatello moved with a cold precision as he pulled the car out of the lot and began to drive further down the dock, looking for a spot more reclusive and subtle. The expensive leather seats and brightly lit dashboard were small examples of the man's wealth, of what paying off authorities and political power can do for a man.

The drive was short, but it wasn't long before the man started to come too. Eyes never leaving the docks before him, Don simply threw a sharp punch to the man's jaw to knock him unconscious once more. He fiddled with the station and rolled his eyes at the angry howls of modern day rock music, and instead settling down into a familiar classical station. Wagner was always a great composer for this type of situation.

Don parked the car in the darkest, most reclusive, and solitary spot in the dock that he could find. Once the engine settled into an idling purr, he reached over to the still unconscious man and pulled the seat belt over him to latch, and then crushed the entire metal device with his fist, to lock it in place. During the process, the man began to moan and wake.

"Wha- Why am I wearing a seat belt?" The words were slurred and his face was bloody around the mouth, "Fuck, my face hurts like hell. Who are you? Why am I here? What's going on?"

Always the same questions. The same tone of voice, the same fear bubbling up inside their throats and filtering into their eyes as the realization began to dawn on them. Don locked his own seatbelt in and smirked at his companion, "You should always wear a seatbelt while driving. Even if your destination is the bottom of the Long Island bay. We're just outside East Hampton, if you care to know specifics. Quite a ways away from good old New York city."

He voice sounded fake in his mind. Didn't sound like him. He didn't care either way, he refused to care. The man swore loudly and bucked against the seatbelt with no luck. Rex reached over to try to pry his belt buckle, but it was stuck. Don made sure that the man wouldn't be able to wiggle out either, he made sure to make the belt exceedingly tight.

"What'd I ever to do you, asshole? If it's money you want, you can have as much as you can even think of! Which can't be much since you look like the dumbest son-of-a-bitch that crawled out of gutter. What are you, from Bronx?"

"Beatrice Dulland, Jasmine Rover, Courtney Rockwood, Mie-Ling Pong, Faith Lawson, Dorothy Devo-"

"-What the hell are you talking about?" The man's eyes burrowed angrily into his skull, sharp and harsh at first but as Don continued to list names, the man began to sweat a bit more with each name. Pale towards the end of the list, his mouth quivered as he twisted his mouth into what Don assumed to be a smirk, "So what? You're their avenger or some shit like that?"

Don said nothing. The man took his silence as a sign for weakness, which Don noted with a sour taste in his mouth as Rex laughed, even with the quivering and nervous edge to his voice. The man was desperate, that Don could tell. Instability was what he expected with this man.

"You're that fucking psycho that's all over the news, aren't you? Guess posing as a cute girl online gets you off, doesn't it, punk? You don't even have what it takes to be a real man." The man's haughty tone of voice and expression was so familiar, so hauntingly disgusting that it took all of Don's self-restraint to not shove his fist down the man's throat and break every tooth in his head. "I'll let you in on a little secret," his voice lowered venomously low, "Each one of them were so tight that they bled like a stuck pig. Squealed like one too."

Don's fists clenched the steering wheel with enough force to crack the polished wood as spider-web patterned crevices blossomed under his hands. The man said no more, but his grin was not one of joy, but of victory with the tight corners and thinly pressed lips.

"You're sick." The statement was simple and true, but wasn't nearly powerful enough to describe this man.

"My mother says the same thing. Is that really all you have to say? I get better responses from my lawyers and I pay them to kiss my ass. If you really think that killing me is going to help anything, than you're just as stupid as all of those other morons. This is why you're here, isn't it? To kill me because I'm a bad man whose done bad things? Try taking a look in the mirror, asshole. You're in the same boat as me."

"That may be the case," Don spoke with a soft voice but every word was laced with venom as he all but snarled, "But cleaning up another despicable piece of trash from this world is enough for me."

"Cleaning up this world? Even my maid has better sense than you, and she doesn't speak a word of English. If you're so damned intent on cleaning up all this trash, whose going to clean up your sorry ass when you've gone and killed everybody then? Because no matter how many assholes you wipe off this godforsaken planet, there'll still be one left. You."

The engine roared with sudden energy as it began the journey towards the dock's edge, lightless water rolling beneath the creaking wood. The man froze stiff besides him and gripped the handle to the door, tugging on it with sudden fear, "Just let me out! You're fucking psycho! You're not better than me! You have no right to do this! Let me OUT, damn you!"

Iced water crushed everything in a deafening blow that drowned out all light, sound, and air as the entire car was dragged into the seemingly depthless waters. All senses were cut off from his mind and body as the man's last words echoed in his mind like the rattling breath from a broken record. The cold cut to his very bones but he waited. He waited until the feeling left his skin and muscles and the body besides him stopped moved. The emergency lights came on as the confused car turned on the cabin's lights that flooded the water itself.

Rex Dover's face was pale, expressionless, and had a serene look of peacefulness that caused his entire body to grind together in frustration. In anger. In guilt. In disgust.

He wasn't sure who he was disgusted with anymore. With himself or the men he murdered.

* * *

**A/N- I'm going to try to integrate April and Splinter more into the story, and you'll see so in future chapters. I have certain scenes I want to write out, it's all about the buildup to those scenes that are giving me issues though. Heh heh heh. **


	5. Expectations

_I spent my entire weekend watching Classic Turtle cartoon and the Turtles Forever movie, along with the newest TMNT movie, so after finishing up everything with this tonight, I am officially Turtle'd out. Heh heh heh. _

* * *

Pale pink splashes of color touched the sky as Leonardo found himself squished in the back of April's old van with his brother and father, waiting impatiently to be home and in bed. Weariness seeped into his bones but he fought against it as he forced himself to focus on the strange arrangement of brown stains that littered the floor of the rickety van. Blood was the first explanation that filtered through his mind, but he told himself it was most likely stains of coffee or Cola of some kind.

The entire ride was silent, save for the steady breathing of those around him. It was almost dawn by the time they reached the city. The never quite barren streets had the early morning birds walking through the streets with tired, shuffling feet and steaming cups of coffee in hand. Screeching brakes hurt his ears as the van bucked to a stop, with the exhaust popping loud enough to make him reach for his Katana.

"I told Casey to take care of that," April sighed as she turned off the engine and turned towards them, "Next time you decide to get stranded in the middle of nowhere, try to do it at a more convenient time," she yawned widely as she stretched her arms above her head, "Good night or morning, whatever time it is now. I'm going to go pass out in my bed. Keep in touch, will you? Send Mikey over so that we can bake some goodies. I miss that. See you all later, then."

"Stay safe, Ms. O'Neil."

Cold, refreshing morning air flooded the van as she stepped out into the grey streets, closing the door, and giving them one final smile before turning to disappear into her apartment building's front door. As soon as the door closed, Raph moved to slide open the side door of the van, peeking outside before waving them forward. The concrete sidewalk flew under his feet as they barely touched the rough ground, in his quick dash. Looking back once to make sure that none suspected their movements, Leo lead his family towards a manhole and picked up the iron circle with ease, "After you, father."

"We will discuss your earlier predicament later tonight, my son. Ah, thank you." His furry head bowed gratefully as he climbed down the manhole cover, "It appears that some individual has left a large stack of rather inappropriate women's magazines down here. Who is this Victoria?"

"I'm going to stay up top a bit more," Raph looked down the alleyway and peeked up at the rooftops before adding, "Tell him that the magazine is Don's. Don't give me that look; I'm not going to do anything stupid. I'll be back soon enough."

"You keep pornographic magazines under the manhole near Roosevelt and Western? If that's all you do when you go topside for air then I'll make sure to find you more constructive chores at home."

"Like you wouldn't do the same if you didn't have your creepy ass sex music, Leo. Just don't pass by under Winterhold on the way home. I don't want him to find my hooch too."

"How many manholes do you have your garbage stashed away under?"

"Enough."

"Fine. It doesn't matter anyways," Leo said as he took his turn to climb down the ladder, "Just be back in time for dinner."

"Who's cooking it tonight anyways?"

"I am, why?"

"I'll pick up some grub on the way home. Later," his brother closed the manhole before Leo could object as he was submersed in the darkness that always plagued the sewers. A warm hand helped to guide him down to the ground.

Leo's brow furrowed as he gazed sightlessly around himself, "I thought that you said that you found Ra- I mean, a stack of-uh…"

"I simply wanted some time alone with you, my son. I am sure that Raphael will understand," Splinter said with amusement. He couldn't see his father's eyes, but he could picture the bright light in them, "I have long ago found out about your brother's tendency to hoard his unmentionables around the sewers."

"Right. You said you wanted to talk to me, Sensei?" Leonardo found it best to avoid that topic of conversation as they began their trek through the lightless sewers. Experience and heightened sense made the movement slower, but manageable.

"Yes, I have discussed much with Ms. O'Neil on the way to pick up you and your brother. This past month has been very hard on this family, and neither I nor you have any power over the hardships that we have had to face. Despite this, we also cannot escape the painful guilt that follows, can we?"

Leonardo said nothing, his mouth suddenly dry and he found it increasingly hard to not stumble through the trash-littered sewers. He didn't want argue with his father, to say that he should have foreseen and stopped this before it escalated to this level, that he as the leader of his brother's should be able to help keep them together. He didn't want to admit what he's been thinking and believing this entire time; that he failed his family as a not only as a leader, but as a brother and son as well.

"Do not believe that you are at fault over occurrences that you cannot control."

"That's why I'm here," Leo interrupted despite himself, "I'm here to protect them from letting this happen. Not only that, but I do fail and we suffer for it, I have to be strong enough to push them to move on past that. I haven't been able to do that. Not this time." He nervously bit his bottom lip as he wrung his hands together, grateful for the darkness to hide his expression.

"You are only able to do what you know best, at that time. You are not experienced in dealing with matters such as this," a warm, familiar hand gripped his elbow as his father continued, "You have a strong sense of foresight and wisdom that you're brothers do not have, but I cannot expect you to know all the dangers of this world. I am not familiar with the wounds that Michelangelo has sustained, I can only hope for his strong spirit to heal itself over time. But Donatello is a different matter. I too understand the pain and despair of revenge and how it warps the mind. I must ask you to refrain from confronting your brother on this issue."

Shame was heavy in his chest as Leonardo dropped his eyes downwards, only faint outlines of garbage could be seen as they neared a sewer vent before them. He no longer knew what drove him forward, what the next step would be, or how to keep his brothers from all falling apart. Leo knew that his father saw much in him, but he himself could not see what his father does. He has failed too many times as a leader, and as their older brother. He hardly thought himself fit to lead them and he was sure that his father was beginning to believe the same.

"I'm sorry, father."

"Please, pardon this old rat the shame of hearing an undeserved apology from one of his sons. There is nothing that you have done that is wrong, Leonardo. Do not doubt my love or pride towards you and your brothers. You have done the best that is in your ability, and for that I am grateful. It is all I ask." A thin, wiry arm wrapped around his shoulders and pulled him down more towards his father's level, "Do not burden yourself with your own expectations, Leonardo. A single individual can only do so much."

His eyes prickled hotly as his father led him to a more lightened area ahead, which he ducked his head away from the overhead light, avoiding the sharp eyes of his father. The arm around him stiffened as he was led to sit underneath the sewer grate, a flick of his father's tail to clear the ground enough for them to sit without fear of being impaled by rusted trash.

The ground was cold and seeped past his skin and into his bones, but he ignored the numbing sensation. His father sat at his side with as much poise as if he sat in a high throne and not the soiled concrete of a sewer floor. Not meeting his father's eyes, Leonardo watched random and unidentifiable particles of garbage float in the stream before them, the steady flow peaceful and without care. He almost resented that garbage, right there. Resented how it didn't have any other purpose in its existence other than to move from one point to another. A simple existence.

"It is I, not you, who must apologize. As with any other individual, I have made my share of mistakes in this life. Burdening you with the task of the leader of this clan was not easy, but it was a decision I made nonetheless."

Stomach rolling with nauseous tides, his vision blurred but he refused to acknowledge them as he stared mindlessly at the murky water before him, keeping his mind and emotions distant. "And that was a mistake as well, father?"

Splinter took a moment to answer, before taking a deep breath the seemed to take away the very air that Leo breathed. "I am not sure, Leonardo. I made that decision with what I knew then, and now as we sit here I can truthfully tell you that I do not regret that decision. The only regret that I have in that regard is that you do not let yourself enjoy your life as well as you should. You put so heavy an expectation on yourself that you squeeze out any real joy in yourself. It is not a weakness nor a shame to take care of yourself first, my son. We care for you as well, never forget this."

Nasal passages were congested as he found himself hiccupping despite himself as the water before him blurred into a great brown blob of nothing. Leo couldn't find words to say that would get past his bumbling mouth as a strong arm settled across his quivering shoulders. The movement was subtle but brought great comfort as he eventually settled down enough to an exhausted content calmness. His eyes were still hot as he rubbed them, but at least they weren't leaking all over his father's robe anymore.

"Sorry," he hiccupped again and attempted to suck his clogged passages up through his nostrils. The thick and painful lump in his throat subsided enough so that he could talk and breathe properly again, "I don't really know what I'm sorry for anymore, but I'm just sorry in general, I suppose. I know that makes no sense."

"It makes perfect sense, my son."

* * *

He didn't hear his brother come in. Only the automated and lulling voice of the reporter over the news was heard as he watched the television from the couch. His brother sat close and Michelangelo found himself leaning away from the presence, familiar and comforting but somehow an underlying fear always wiggled itself into his jittery self.

"You're up early."

Mikey didn't know the time, and didn't really care to know. Time all seemed to the same to him, when he didn't have the act of sleep to help him differentiate between day and night. He nodded dumbly as his brother reached for the remote, turning up the volume of the television. Mikey didn't move or object.

"_Authorities have suggested that the serial killer may in fact be a younger woman around the age of twenty with an athletic build and possible history of body building. Sketches have been presented to the public and are requested that if met by the possible suspect, to not pursue and contact the authorities as soon as possible. With other recent news, Lindsey Lohan has now begun her first television series within the past several years and critics claim that-" _

"Maybe she's the killer," Leo attempted to tease as he shifted awkwardly in his seat and earning no response, "Probably not though. Have you eaten yet today? I didn't check this morning. I mean, last night. It's really early, isn't it?"

"Yeah."

His brother said something but was cut drowned out by the overbearing sound of the some theme song being played out on the television. Mikey flinched at the noise and his brother picked up the remote again, turning up the volume further. His vision seemed to zoom in on the television in that instance as the newscaster turned from professional indifference to a dark anger as her sharp eyes cut right through the screen and towards him.

"_Coming after you next. No longer going to be safe with the killer living so close to you. He'll slit your throat while you sleep. He knows what you did." _

"Turn it off already! There's no reason to have the volume up so loud, Leo. I'm not deaf, you know."

His brother stiffened at his side before exchanging a confused glance from the remote to the television, with the woman's mouth echoing the same threats repeatedly.

"Mikey… The television is turned off."

Mikey didn't know how to respond, the woman's face was continuingly progressing into a more twisted, angry expression as her words became more acidic and venomous.

_Blood on his hands. He saw you. Going to have your blood on his hands next. Don't sleep. _

"I'll be in my room if you need me, dude."

Leaving his brother on the couch and fleeing to his room at a slow pace, trying to not gain more attention to himself, he closed the door behind him silently and slid down to the floor to stare mindlessly at the carpet with the palms of his hands placed uselessly over his earholes.

"Just leave me alone. Leave me alone. Leave me alone," he chanted repeatedly, trying to drown out the voices growing louder with each passing second. He would just wait for this to pass. They would have to stop eventually. They always do.

He couldn't be normal like this. Maybe his family will get tired of his stupidity and kick him out. No, they wouldn't do that. He's just being told that they'd do that. His family is better than that. They care about him. They wouldn't abandon him just because he was a freak.

There were knocks on his door, "Mikey?"

_He knows about you. Don't answer it. He'll slit your throat. Don't look up. Don't move._

"Open this door. This can't keep on going on forever."

_Can't stand you. Going to be alone. Don't answer him. Shut your mouth._

"M-Maybe another time, Leo. Now's not the best time."

"Then when will be? You haven't slept in weeks, I can't remember the last time I saw you eat something. You're going to waste away and I will be damned if I lose you after we just got you back. Now, open this door or I'll do it for you."

_Don't move. Don't talk. Going to slit your throat. He knows what you did._

"Just shut up and stop telling me what to do!"

"So you _want_ to waste away to nothing? That's bullshit. I won't let that happen."

"No, not- Uh, never mind." Mikey scrambled to his feet to open the door before his brother broke it down, "I wasn't, uh… Yeah," he said with a heavy sigh. The door opened and Mikey jerked back at the intense stare of his brother. Mikey's eyes scoured the ground as he fidgeted nervously, "Hey, Leo."

"Hey, yourself." His brother hesitated in the doorway, looking unsure of himself as he cleared his throat and scratched the back of his neck. "May I come in?"

"Yeah, go ahead. Sorry about that."

"It's no problem."

Shuffling to the corner of his room and sliding down to the ground, Mikey resisted wrapping his arms around his tucked knees as he forced himself into a more relaxed position with his legs splayed out in front of him. His brother joined him against the wall with Leo's toes reaching an inch past his own. He would sometimes forget how much shorter he was than his brothers.

"Raph told me already, so you don't have to look so ashamed."

"Everybody knows then? I guess that's a good thing at this point," Mikey grimaced as pain began to shoot through the front of his head, "I'm not disowned or anything, am I?"

"Of course not. What made you think that? Oh, right. You couldn't be disowned from this family even if you wanted too," Leo attempted to laugh and came up sounding empty and fake, "I know that I haven't really been there for you these past few weeks, but I'm going to change that. I suppose that I just really didn't know what to do with, you know…"

"Yeah."

The response hung lamely in the air as the silenced passed on for several minutes. Mikey couldn't bring himself to look over at his brother so he focused on his feet and away from the pestering whispers the echoed in the back of his mind. He knew that he was sitting stiffly with his body tense, but he couldn't seem to get his body to relax around another person. Even if he knew them all his life. It was like he was on the battlefield constantly, unsure of how anybody was going to react or what was going to be done to him. The tension of paralyzing fear was what left him exhausted constantly, barely getting the drive to stand, and yet not wanting to stop moving at the same time.

"I'm sorry."

Mikey tore his eyes away from his feet to read his brother's grim expression with a heavy heart, "What? Dude, no. You don't have to apologize for anything. I'm the one who can't seem to get my shit together. I can't even walk around any of you without jumping like you're swinging a sword at me. I'm the one who should be sorry, Leo."

"But, if I just went with you when you left and-"

"Dude, you don't have to apolo-"

"No, listen to me." Mikey's jaw clenched as his brother's hand tightened on his shoulder to emphasize his point, "I am _sorry_, okay? I- I don't know how else to say it. What happened to you was not right. It never should have happened. Not to you." Sweat dotted his brother's skin as the grimace deepened with his eyes haunted. "I'm sorry. I'm so, _so_ sorry, Mikey."

Stomach twisting as he fought to not move the hand still gripping his shoulder, he swallowed and nodded soundlessly, lost as to what to say. This wasn't right. His brother shouldn't be apologizing, his brother shouldn't be so torn apart, shouldn't look so lost and pained.

_All your fault. They hate you. Slit your throat. Cast you out. Your fault. Hate you._

"Don't listen to them, Michelangelo." Expression hardened with eyes bright with raw pain as he shifted to his knees and gripped both shoulders tightly, "Don't you dare listen to them. Whatever lie's their telling you, ignore them. You can't let them win."

"Don't touch me."

Lingering traces of fingerprints trailing his skin, pressing into his flesh and holding him down. Humiliation thicker than the taste of blood in his mouth with the ground so hard and so cold. The smell of sweat flooding his sense as whispering covered the back of his neck with a fine mist of spit spreading across the back the side of his face and leading towards his mouth. Hot liquids burning in comparison to the iced hands traveling through every inch of his body. Never holding back. Never leaving anything untouched.

Pressure was released, his brother let go as if his hands touched a hot burner on the stove as he rose to his feet in a mid-crouch as he watched him as a zookeeper would watch an agitated lion. Mikey breathed slowly through his nostrils, his fist clenched around a sharpened Kunai as he forced his body to relax enough to drop the weapon to his side. He didn't even remember grabbing it.

"I'm sorry, Leo. I-I don't know why…"

"It's fine. I can understand that." His brother sat back down across from him, with his legs crossed and his back as straight as a pole, "I can understand that anger. That disgust."

"Sorry…"

"There's nothing to apologize for, Mikey. I wouldn't wish this sort of pain even among my most hated enemies," Leo sighed as he massaged the top of his head in a tight circle, as if he was trying to wash out a painful memory. "When Shredder defeated us on that ship, when we were so injured that we could barely stand on our own, I felt so disgusted with myself, so useless that I hated myself for my weakness. That I didn't have the power to stop him from hurting all of you," Leo paused with deep breathing, his eyes closed to block out the haunted look that was cast in them. "How he hurt me."

Words just caught themselves halfway in his throat, building up to a painful mass that made it difficult to breathe. He didn't move, didn't think, and didn't look away from his brother's face.

"You can't keep on running away from this hatred, you have to face it. It's so much easier to face somebody else that you hate; it's the internal battles that are always so hard to fight. I can't fight for you, but I can show you the path to get there. Just like I was shown this path by the Ancient One."

Mikey nodded; his tongue thick and not wanting to work properly. He licked the outside of his dry mouth and shifted into a similar position as his brother. "Okay," the word was hoarse and clumsy, but at least he could find his voice again.

Focusing internally, with his eyes closed and his older brother's face still vivid in his mind, he focused on that, focused on the last memory of his brother smiling, of his family together and happy. If his brother could fight his own demons, then so could he. He couldn't afford to lose this battle.

* * *

**A/N- So, yeah... Not my strong suit with these angsty talks. My family mainly either didn't talk about anything, or ignored each other. Ha ha ha ha ha! I've realized that the reason I keep on avoiding this story is that I love writing Mikey for his humor and lightheartedness. Not really a possibility in this story. Heh heh heh. I think my Leo is trying to make up for the humor and playfulness and is totally failing. But that's just me. XD I am so tired of writing this chapter, that I'm just posting without editing, so good luck! **


	6. Fear Manifesto

_I know that this is short but I don't have the brain power to write more and this seems like an END to this chapter. That and the next 'part' with Don and Raph will be almost a chapter by itself. It's so challenging to write without an outline. Le Sigh. But, I have totally been honest and have updated almost every day. Trust me, not as easy as it sounds. It does help that I have no life, but alas! I don't know what. Burger King has fried my brain like Onion Rings, so hopefully ya'll can enjoy whatever I erupted onto the page. _

* * *

Fear Manifesto

Only the ugliest brutes and the prettiest girls worked down in Dirty Harry's bar. The entire building was full of tables and stools that were crammed into a space fit for a rich man's bathroom. Standing above the rest was the bar, which was currently occupied by a rowdy and obnoxious man of short stature. Raphael wasn't likely to get served soon, he knew. All he wanted was a damn drink.

Watching the bar like an old buzzard, he scowled at the perverted and rude advances he made on the waitresses. Even if they were dressed like sluts, he didn't call that reason to grab their rumps like they were bowls of candy. Loyal to their job and tips, they didn't react to the forwardness of the man, and served him whatever he howled out.

"I hate dumbasses," Raph muttered under his breath as he sauntered over to the bar. Keeping his fedora low over his face and raising his collar to hide his neck, he approached the man from behind, his presence not known. "Hey, chump."

Chopping at the man's elbow placed on the bar, which he was leaning his chin on, the side of his hand removed the man's sense of balance. Using this moment, Raphael took his other palm to slam it against the back of the man's head, sending his drunken forehead to crack against the weathered wood of the bar. An instant knock out. "Forgot whatever the hell I was gonna say. Whatever."

While the man's unconscious body flailed to the ground like a dead fish, Raph made sure to swoop his hand towards the man's protruding pocket to pick up some extra change, "Oh, that's right. Don't hog the whole damn bar, asshole." He then nodded at the bartender, who never ceased in his duty of cleaning the mugs, even if the rusted brown rag that he used looked to be made of old blood. "Whiskey."

The larger man, with the mustache fit for the Lorax, picked a bottle off the shelf behind him and popped a shot glass on the counter, tiling the bottle to pour it into the glass. Raph grunted and shook his head with an, "Uh-uh."

Swiping the bottle from the man's beefy hands, Raph tossed down a crinkled twenty that he swiped from the unconscious man at his feet. Taking a swig of the bottle and belching his compliments, he made sure to say his gratitude, "Thanks for the drink, princess."

None stopped him as he kept to the shadows, moving away from the group to isolate himself in the darkest corner that he could find. The bottle was half-way finished before his darker, pent up thoughts began to leak through his haze of a mind. Mikey nuts. Don gone. Leo breaking. Splinter silent. He didn't even want to see the state that April and Casey were in. Too many people hurting. Too many people not him having mental collapses. It wasn't right. He should be the only screw up. He's the one that deserved it most.

"Such tenders eyes," a female voice filtered through his buzzing ears.

"Don't even think about-"

"-Perfect for a stew. The juices inside make the most pretty looking broth."

This woman was nuts. Everybody around him seemed to have more than one screw loose nowadays. Looking up from his half-empty bottle, his wary eyes gauged the woman before him. He knew this bitch. Edna Fageena. Eyes bulged out of his sockets as he shot up from the table, reaching for a Sai with one hand and gripping the neck of the whiskey bottle with his others as he growled out, "What the fuck are you doing here?"

"Barmaid. You look so sad, sitting all alone. My dear love would sit all alone," she had a grin of black stumps, "He had better eyes. Dark eyes. Lovely eyes."

As creepy as she was, Raph knew she was fairly harmless compared to him, so he settled back in his chair and took another swig of his whiskey. "What do you want? That little fucker is dead. You have nothing to talk to me about."

At least she stopped wearing those creepy wedding dresses that looked to be pulled out of a dug up coffin. Wearing a long, shapeless black dress, she looked perfect for an Adams Family portrait. Hair was still as crazy as ever, sticking up at all end with her wild curls. There was no getting a brush through that, he couldn't even imagine water leaking through the black and white mess. Raphael couldn't imagine why anybody would hire her. "Who's the dumbass who gave you a job?"

"The owner, quite the scrumptious man. Larry is his name," she licked her lips with a ravenous light in her dark eyes, "Meat is his game."

Explains the bloody rags. "I'm going to come back later to burn this place down," Raph said with another swig of his whiskey, "You're a nasty bitch. Eating people is creepy and disgusting. Everything is wrong with you."

"They're just little homeless morsels. Nobody misses them," her expression contorted into a fearful nervousness as she wrung her hands, "Don't burn down his tasty shop. He's nothing without his tasty shop. Not like my Jimmy. My Jimmy was a man who-"

"_Don't_ say his name again," Raph slammed down the bottle with force that almost buckled the table, "I never want to hear his fucking name again. Understand? I'll cut you down right now if you even whisper it."

Edna whimpered pathetically and, for just a moment, he felt a pang of pity which was instantaneously drowned out by his disgust. Kicking the table over, he made sure to overturn every table as he stormed out of the dirty bar. There were frightened and excited murmurs to his back as he left, but he didn't care. He never wanted to set foot in that place again, unless he was burning it down.

The night air was cold and the sharp gales cut right though his patched trench coat, tattered through the years of use and only held together with homemade stitching. Most he did himself, but his bulky fingers could never do the same tight stitching that Mike did. Must be because his brother always drew so much. Don should take him welding one of these days, Raph bet that his artistic brother would be good at it.

Not in his current state, Raph reminded himself with a grimace. Even if Mikey did get his head together to even hold a welding torch, he'd have to drag Don out whatever deep ass hole he dug himself in. Raphael knew all about burying himself in his problems. In his own fucking issues. Now Don's doing it too, and it's like his brother is slipping bamboo shoots under his fingernails. So irritating that it was painful.

He didn't know how to snap them all out of it. He didn't even know how to fix himself, how the hell was he supposed to fix them? No, there was no fixing them. There was nothing he could do except stay the hell away. Better than making everything worse. He always made everything worse.

Blinking and running a chilled hand along his heated forehead, he rubbed his closed eyes as he tried to get his mind to catch up to his feet. During his drunken brooding, his feet led him to the old substation that he showed off to his brother all those weeks ago. Too bad he couldn't simply slap the stupid out of Don this time. Opening the door and letting it slam shut behind him, he flinched back violently and waved his arms in front of him, like a puppet with broken strings.

"Fuck, Don. What the hell are you doing here?" Raph didn't notice that his brother was even present, until he almost walked on top of him. There was only darkness inside and only the faint city lights from the city filtered in the cracked walls. Only enough illumination to see his brother's dim outline, still hunched over the cot. "You look like you could use a bullet to the head."

The floor was soaked. Raphael wiped the now wet soles of his feet against the top of the cot. He just hoped it wasn't vomit composed of booze. That smell would never get out, even if he couldn't smell anything now, he was probably too buzzed to notice. Plopping next to his brother on the cot, he shuffled his hands around the floor at their feet, looking for a light. "Damn it, Don. Can't you say anything?" No response. "Whatever. Don't talk then."

"It's just water," Don answered his thoughts, "I took a swim in the Hudson."

Raph couldn't tell if his brother was being funny or serious. It was hard to place the tone of his voice, being a mixture of amusement and grief. It was like two people were crammed into one body. "You're a dumbass. It's too cold to swim anywhere."

His brother flicked a light to life before Raph could find one of his own. The lone flame danced in the palm of Donatello's hand, highlighting and emphasizing the dark circles under his eyes. Missing his mask, Raph swore that his brother looked years older than he should. Age seven years in seven weeks. Probably a new record.

"Thanks," Raph mumbled as he patted himself down, looking for a paper carton.

"You won't find them," Don said, "They're bad for your health anyways."

Capable of reading minds and swiping his cigarettes without him noticing. Raph wasn't sure if he should be admiring his brother or breaking his teeth. "Fuck you."

"You'll thank me later."

"Whatever," he leaned back against the wall behind him and shifted so that he didn't get splinters in the back of his head, "Guess who I ran into tonight."

"Ralph Waldo Emerson."

"Try again. I'll give you some hints. She's an ugly bitch who eats people."

Stiffening besides him, Raph could almost hear the gears whirling his brothers head fast enough to make steam come out of his ears. "Where is she?"

Tensing with instinct, he licked his suddenly dry mouth at the harsh sound of his brother's voice. "What's it to you?"

"Don't play stupid."

"I'm not playing stupid. I don't want to send you off to do something you'll regret later."

His brother laughed, a hollow and icy sound that cut right to his bones. "Interesting choice of words."

It was like he was sitting next to a ticking bomb. His stomach shifted uncomfortably as the lighter gave a crazed depth to his brother's eyes that was unsettling. Treating him as if he was a volatile as a dangerous mixture of chemicals, Raphael tried to choose his next words very carefully.

"You're a fucking dumbass."

"That's rich coming from you, who can't-"

Snapping the lighter shut, he dropped it so that he could use both of his hands to grip his brother's shoulders and shake him rough enough to hear his brain rattle. "_Think_ about what the hell you're doing! You're talking like you've fucking lost it! We already have one brother who's screwed up in the head. Get your ass together and stop acting like you've lost your damned mind!"

He wiped off his spit drenched face with the back of his hand, a result of Raphael screaming so close to his face, and standing up to push him back, "Maybe I have. Maybe we all have. I told you we wouldn't get him back. That isn't our brother down there," he bit out with venom.

"Watch your mouth."

"Why? You've been deluding yourself into believing that he's going to get over this. He's not. There's no cure for schizophrenia. The most you can do is drug him until the voices stop. That's it."

"So? So what? He's still a part of this family, so it doesn't mean shit if he's crazy. We'll be there for him if he needs us. Get over yourself already," Raphael loomed above his brother with a lone finger inches from his twisted face, "If I ever catch you even hinting to Mike that he's some kind of problem for us, then I'm going to make you eat your own teeth!"

Swatting away the threatening finger, Don sneered, "Don't put words in my mouth. I never said that we'll cast him out like yesterday's trash, what I'm telling you is that this isn't something we can look over so easily. Something has to be done."

"And avoiding him like he's a Leper is helping how? You haven't been around the lair for more than a few days. It's really starting to piss me off," Raph flexed his closed fists, "There's nothing that you can do up here that would help him."

"You honestly believe I don't understand that? Waiting around uselessly to watch his mind fall apart isn't the most productive means of support either," Don sighed as an old veteran would before telling a war story, "I can't just sit around uselessly and watch him fall apart. I have to get out. Do something. If there," he pinched the bridge between his eyes, "If there was something done before all of this happened. I don't know. I really don't, but maybe if I can try to stop this from happening again-"

"What's done is done. There's no fixing this by," Raphael's words dropped off as his mind began to turn and click as pieces suddenly started to come together to complete the puzzle, "By, holy shit, that's you out there. The news, you're all over the news. That's you."

"I had CNN convinced that some body building woman from Austria was the culprit," he shrugged, "They probably would have labeled her as the next Terminator if I left any substantial evidence to prove her existence. I'm actually still not sure who started that rumor."

"That's so stupid! What kind of idiot would go around like some crazed nutcase to take out all of those assholes?"

"Two words. The Nightwatcher," Don retorted with a raised eye-ridge and arms crossed in a defensive posture, "Only instead of beating up thugs so that they can get arrested, go to jail to learn more ways to break the law, and get released, I skipped the middle part. These weren't just common criminals, Raph. They are the same as _him_. Just the same."

Raphael couldn't find a way to respond. This was just too big for him to want to understand. There were too many conflicting thoughts battling war in his skull, all shouting to be heard the most. He wanted to believe his brother. He wanted to believe that alone, or even together, they could rid the world of sick bastards who hurt his brother and others. Countless others.

Running a chilled hand across the top of his head, which now had a sheen of sticky sweat, he lowered himself back to the cot as if his bones were weary and brittle. "You can't fight the whole damn world, Don. There's always going to be sickos like that. Nothing we can do about it."

"I won't accept that. I'm not going to let the world decide what I am or am not able to accomplish. What I have done, or will do, may be mediocre compared to the entire scope of the world, but I don't really give a shit," Don snarled, "I may not get to every one of them, but I can sure as hell scare those that get away. They need to understand that they can't get away with what they've done."

"Scare, huh?" Raph cracked his shoulders as he stood, "I can do that. Does cannibalism fit into your hit list?"

"I believe I can find room."

* * *

**A/N- Deja Vu! Another Raph and Don fight that ends in them doing some weird co-op mission. I was actually trying to get them to REALLY fight, but couldn't bring the characters to comply. I think that Don knows too well that what Raph is telling him is true, he just doesn't want to hear it. So, hopefully I managed to sound halfway intelligent when writing this. Heh heh heh. Oh, and I was hoping that Don's little speech towards the end didn't seem like an idealistic message against sexual harrasment. Don't get me wrong, totally against it, but I don't want it shoved into people's face repeatedly. I like trying to stick more to the story itself more, you know? I can't vouch for myself much, because I don't see what I write to be really, er, professional? Whatever. Ha ha ha ha!**


	7. Endless Loop

_I know that this chapter is a lot shorter than the others, but the next segment is just too big to put at the end of this chapter... Wow, I never did that before. I just really quick added the last part to this story. Figured it needed a little extra boost at the end. Heh heh heh. Well, hopefully I'll get this story finished soon. I think it only needs one more chapter or two. Feedback would be awesome, as always!_

* * *

Endless Loop

A chain swung. The folds of metal clinked against each other in bursts. Then silence. As much as Mikey strained his eyes to see, he couldn't get past the thick blackness that engulfed his vision. Only the chains could be heard. Back and forth. Click. Click. Click. Back and forth. Then nothing.

"Is this where I say hello?" He couldn't hear his voice. Maybe he was deaf in this place. Then the clinking of chain again, getting farther away. Mikey knew he was there, but couldn't feel or see his body. The chains were dragging now. A dry, hollow sound that made his blood run cold.

All sounds ceased. His ears prickled. Mikey didn't want the noises to stop. He wanted to continue to hear. Anything to distract him from the nothing that surrounded him. "Leo?"

The name. Memory of his brother's presence flickered across his mind and it was as if a light switch was turned on. The light burned, but only for a second, and then he could finally see. There were stained white tiles on the walls and floor. All looked the same. Even on the ceiling there were stains that he could see as he looked up.

Before him was an older porcelain tub with the fancy lion's feet that he would see in old Sherlock Holmes films. Strings of chains were attached to the feet of the tub. Approaching closer, he could see dried flakes of blood clinging to the iron. Where was he? Mikey had no memory of this place.

Curiosity getting the better of him, he knelt down to grasp the chain. He expected it to be cold and rigid but instead it burned his hand. Yelping, he let go but the chain continued to stick to his hand and melt into his skin. Eyes watered over from the overwhelming scalding as the chain moved on it's own, wrapping completely around his arm.

"Get off," Mikey huffed. He struggled to pull the chain off, but the more he fought, the tighter it wrapped. Green skin was now liquifying and dripping down into the tub, flowing down the drain with a loud sucking sound. Like the drain was drinking.

Whites of his bone began to appear as his skin and tissue dripped away, pooling down and spiraling down the gaping hole below. He couldn't get the chains off. He was going to lose his arm.

"_Not real. Close your eyes. Listen to my voice. It's not real. Focus, Mikey. You have to focus."_

Snapping his eyes shut, he obeyed the disembodied voice and found comfort. The burning ebbed away as his mind found it's way back to the black nothing. Trying to search for his arms, he found that he had no body to move. He just existed. How boring.

"What now? It's not like I can chill out in my own brain forever, you know. Well, I know. Unless somebody is listening? Hello? All knowing voice of my conscious? Or, wait - "

He wasn't alone. The warmth spread from his finger tips and too his belly. Any goosebumps that he had sprouted about his skin as a pressure squeezed his chest cavity. Not too rough to be painful, just enough so that he knew it was there. "Leo."

Name spoken out loud altered everything again. Where his mind was wandering, lost – another force tugged at the corners of his conscious. Was this Leo? Was he supposed to go with this, whatever it was? Instead of fighting against that tug, like raw instinct scratching at the corners of his mind, he let himself fall into the pressure.

Stinging pinpoints prickled across his body as he felt himself fall, then. Mikey wasn't sure how long, time had no meaning to him, but his feet eventually landed. Knees buckling as he regained balance, he flinched as color poured above him. So many different tones splashed down like a giant bucket of paint. It painted a picture.

A freezer. Encased in a bright steel with a lid looking about as heavy as the entire body. Cobbled stone were cold to the soles of his feet, but the surrounding walls were decorated in splashes of random color. All the intermixing shades made his eyes sting and brain buzz, so he didn't look at them. Everything was moving too much. It made him dizzy.

Hesitant to touch the freezer, in case it gave him the same experience as the chains, Mikey tentatively brushed the tips of his fingers against the lid. It was cold. As cold as ice.

"Okay. It's a just a freezer." Deep breath. "Oh, wait. Who am I kidding? This is some wacky dream. This isn't just a freezer. It's probably going to turn into a crow or something symbolic."

Rubbing the palms of his hands together to feel the heat of friction, he quickly gripped the lid and heaved it up. Puffs of frigid air stung his face like a well placed slap and he blinked rapidly to fight back the hot tears. It was so hard to keep his eyes open against the constant gale.

Squinting past the chilling wind, his scream was snatched from his lungs as his chest collapsed with sudden, intense pressure. A woman stared at him. A woman with those unending, black eyes. So familiar. So cold.

Her impassible face creaked as it turned to meet eyes with him. Skin looked to be marble with cracks of frost and blood dotting her cheeks and mouth. She opened her mouth and his scream which was stolen was heard in full. The cooler was so cold now that it burned. His pulled his hands away, grimacing as his skin stuck to the lid. He couldn't get away.

"Scrape the filth. Cleanse the blood. Blacken the eyes."

Crying out as he pulled with more vigor, not wanting to hear the woman chant anymore in a voice that was far too familiar. Far too dangerous. "Scrape the filth." Palms of his hands peeled away from the freezer, leaving behind patches of skin. "Cleanse the blood." The door hung open, but he wouldn't touch it. So he ran. "Blacken the eyes." He looked away. He didn't want to see the woman anymore.

His hands burned. He could still hear the skin tear away, like Velcro. It echoed again and again in his mind. The stinging was too distracting, so he looked down at his palms. The black eyes were there. Staring at him. He couldn't escape them.

As they grew and grew, he became smaller and smaller until he could fall into the depths of them. Water soothed his sores and aches. It was neither cold nor hot. Just soothing and good. The darkness he was grateful for, because it came with nothing. There was no pain or troubling images. He should just stay here, in the darkness.

"Ugh - " Pressure crushed him and eyes were pushed back into his head as his body felt as if it was being jerked forward, flying through the water. All of his skin was being pushed back, past his bones. Everything was pulling away. He was going to be ripped apart.

"_Focus, Mikey. You have got to focus." _

"I know!" Water flooded his lungs, crushing them. "I know that, Leo. I just – I'm a little busy drowning." But he could speak. His chest pounded and ached, but he could still speak. "Or not. Ugh. Something is, what - " Coughs wracked his body as he reached down into his mouth to grasp whatever squirmed in his throat. It was slippery and slimy, hard to keep his grip on.

Michelangelo gagged as he pulled, eyes watering as his body convulsed to throw up what looked like a black slug. He was so tired of the creepy imagery that made no sense. He just wanted to go home.

"_Remember why you are here. You have to remember."_

But he was so tired. His bones felt as if they were made with concrete and everything was so heavy. He felt so heavy. Something pushed on his back, making him step forward. And again. And again. One by one, his feet came forward and took another step until the darkness morphed into something that looked more tangible than anything else before.

He was in a cellar.

Cobwebs and rotten boards were what made the floors and walls. He heard chains again, swinging. There was no wind. Looking up, he blinked as hot, thick liquid dripped onto his face. He smelled copper. Above him were swinging chains, all dripping with blood.

_Go away. Not supposed to be here. Hurt again. Everything burns. Watching you._

"It's my head, I can go wherever I want." Mikey didn't avert his eyes from the mobile chains. Instead, he leaped up to grasp them. "So all of you can just shut the hell up for once. Besides, I was never one to do what I was told."

Hot and slippery, it was hard to keep his grip on the chains. As he began to climb up them, they began to vibrate and shake angrily. Pressing the tips of his fingers to dig deeper, he held on and fought against gagging at the overwhelming stench of blood. Even the odor was heavy, pressing down on his face and drowning all other senses.

Higher and higher he went. Rattling and dripping ceased, but then the screams began. His body shivered, even though it was like climbing into a furnace. He would have opened his mouth to tell them to shut up, but he didn't fancy the idea of getting all of that blood down his throat. Another slug might come up, and he'd rather not go through that again.

When he reached the top, he pushed on what felt like soggy wood. With a grunt and grand push, there was a creak and movement of a trap door as it opened. Crawling out and leaving the screaming strings of iron behind him, he slammed the lid down. All was silent.

"About freaking time," he said. Rising, to him, usually symbolized a good thing. It always seemed better than falling. Unlike all the ominous and dark places before him, this room seemed peaceful. Green adorned all surfaces in different shades and tones. It calmed him.

His body was no visible and he grimaced at how a thin sheen of blood covered all of him. It made his stomach roll and churn. Around him was a small white table and chairs, like one found in a little kid's room for tea time. To the far side of the room was a massive bed with discolored sheets of yellow. He walked towards this, taking the soft sheets in hand to wipe off what he could. When he was more clean, he turned around and flinched in surprise.

"Ah! Woah, uh – I thought I was the only one who was here. Who are you?"

Sitting at the table was a little boy. Black hair and eyes looked up to him, face inexpressive. The lack of response was unsettling but Mikey could never find himself to be intimidated by any child. Sitting at the table, his knees jutted out awkwardly. The seat was obviously meant for small children, not fully grown mutant turtles.

"I guess I'd introduce myself but it'd seem weird since it's my head that we're in. At least, I think it is."

The boy said nothing and Mikey had this inkling of an idea that he should remember this face. It was familiar and yet so foreign at the same time. He couldn't quite place what the boy reminded him of. Without the buzzing of voices in his head, Mikey could think with more clarity and was very pleased at this. He grinned as waved a hand in front of the boy's face, to get his attention.

"Hello? Earth to kid? I haven't heard my brother in awhile so I thought that maybe you could help me out. I never understood how this dream stuff works. I don't have to click the heels of any ruby slippers, do I? Because I don't ever wear shoes."

"You're dirty."

His skin crawled, as if something lived just under the surface. Face cringing as he idly scratched at his forearm, he kept his eyes downcast from the sharp gaze of the boy. "Maybe, I don't know."

Little nose crinkled in disgust. "I don't like being dirty. Momma keeps me clean. See?" The boy raised his bare arms, red and irritated skin show how scalded they were. "I'm not dirty anymore."

"That looks pretty painful, little dude. I'd rather take a bit of dirt over that any time."

"Dirt goes inside. You have to scrape it up to get it out. It's in the blood."

Images of that woman in the freezer came to his mind. How intense and huge her eyes were. How cold she looked. "Yeah, well – let's just say that there were people who thought that draining bad blood would cure people. Instead of curing them, everybody just bled to death. Not much of a cure in my book."

"You've got to clean it! You can't be dirty!" Little hands slapped the table, they boy's voice rising more and more in anger. "Daddy doesn't like it when you're dirty. That's why he keeps you in the tub. You have to stay there until you're clean again. Why are you too stupid to know that?"

It was like the words filtered through his mind as a sieve, catching nothing.

"Your dad chained you up in the tub?" He could remember it so well in his memory. A living photograph. "He shouldn't have done that. That was wrong of him."

Crying in a rage, the boy overturned the table and stomped his foot to scream. "You don't know anything! You're dirty and bad! I won't listen to you!" More screaming. "I hate you!"

It was a circle. An endless loop. Pieces of the puzzle began to come together in his mind. Then he understood. This was where it began. Where the seeds of hate began to grow. Michelangelo stood, the boy so small before him. Black hair flew around as the boy raged with screams that tore through the air like nails on chalkboard. The boy was so angry. So wild and violent.

Dropping to his knees before the boy, Mikey became level with the black eyes before him. Being so close, the boy struck him repeatedly with his little fists, but no damage was done. No pain was felt. Raising his arms as a bird would on it's first flight, he engulfed the boy in an embrace. He held on until the screaming stopped and the little body was limp in his arms. Asleep.

Picking the weightless body up, he carried it to the bed. As his own father would have done to him, Michelangelo tucked the boy in and brushed away any wayward bangs. It was done.

Weight released from his body as his vision swam. Tunneling colors and faces flooded his mind until he pulled up from a lake of memories. Finally breathing for the first time.

"Mike?" Steel hands shook him. "Here, drink this. It will help."

Familiar scents of tea wafted up, filling his senses. Mikey breathed in this wisps of flavored vapor before taking a quick gulp and coughing. "Ah! How hot is this stuff? I totally just burnt my tongue." Rubbing the sore muscle on the roof of his mouth, Mikey blinked as reality came into focus.

"Yeah, I should have warned about that. Sorry."

"At least now I won't be able to taste Don's cooking," Mike stuck out his tongue and smacked his lips, "Or anything. That really smarts. Remind me to stay away from oranges for awhile."

Warm arms wrapped around his neck, so tight and desperate that he choked a little. But Mikey didn't pull away, only leaning into his brother and enjoying the quiet company. It was only a touch, but it was like cement was being poured to fill a hole long dug up and festering.

"Thanks," Mikey said. "Never would have thought I'd be so grateful to hear your nagging in the back of my head. Don't think I would have gotten out of there if you didn't help me, Leo. Really, thanks."

His brother was blinking really fast. "Any time. Just – right. No problem. Glad I could help you." Leo took a deep, watery breath and gave a genuine smile that reached his eyes. "Welcome home."

* * *

Plates clinked against each other as she piled them up together. The stack was heavy and hard to maneuver into the cupboard above her head, but she had put them away so often that it was purely instinct now. April's focus was not on the dishes she was putting away, but at the musical jingle of chimes from the window outside the kitchen. Closing the cupboard drawer and making her way into the living room, she was wiping away the chilling water from her hands as the night air blew into her apartment. It was getting cold out.

Her place was so quiet before. Sitting on the windowsill, she leaned her head against the frame and simply listened to the soft melody playing right outside. Humming to herself, she was mildly surprised at the familiar tune that she heard from the chimes. All of her mutant family have at least hummed that same tune at least once while she was around. Apparently it was a melody that was passed down from Yoshi. She was always reminded of the comings of spring and green blades of grass between her toes. Chest yearned to hear more as the wind died down and silence settled in once more.

City sounds of traffic filtered up to her apartment again. Sighing, she closed the window. It was such a pretty little tune. If only she could hear it one more time before she shuffled off to bed. Contemplating calling one of her adoptive family members, she pushed that urge to the back of her mind as she readied herself for the night. Pajamas on, teeth brushed, and fluffy blanket draped over her lap, she was ready for a lazy evening on the couch. Seconds ticked by into minutes and she found herself dozing off.

Chimes, that sweet melody from before, woke her up. Still in a daze and half-asleep, she rolled out from under her comfy blanket and shuffled back over to the window. Opening it up with a grunt, she blinked at the lack of wind. The chimes were moving on their own, creating that music. Warmth spread from her fingers and toes, making her chest light and bubbly. April O'Neil was suddenly happy and had not a clue as to why.

Smiling like a fool, she listened to the chimes that played even without the help of the wind.

* * *

**A/N - And yes, I just realized that I had a LOT of Looper references in this chapter. Heh heh heh. I actually had The Cell in mind while writing this, but none of that stuff actually came out. I guess I figured that visual stimulation was hard to come across to the readers in writing. I'm not sure if I would consider that a dream sequence or what. Ha ha ha ha! I tried to keep it more simple because... It hurts my brain. HA HA HA HA HA! Hopefully my creepy and weird symbolism filtered through. But with as I was listening to Nine Inch Nails the entire time, probably not. The Ghost Album by them is creepy enough by itself!**


	8. Faces

_Well, I was going to honestly try to squeeze everything into this chapter, so that it could be the last. I know that I shouldn't do that, though. Heh. Just because I want a story to be finished doesn't mean I should rush it. That and I love cliffhangers too much. I should be wrapping up shortly, here. If not this chapter, then possibly the next. I'm happy to see so many people sticking by this story, and can't wait to get feedback from a story not updated in three months! Heh heh heh. I know that it was a long wait, but hopefully you dudes won't have to wait so long again!_

* * *

They were all watching him. The faces in the fire. Sightless eyes flickered with the laughing flames as they gazed down on him; licking the ceiling hungrily. They beckoned him to come closer and fall into their blinding arms. Donatello took a single step forward.

Then another. And another. Former chairs and tables were reduced to nothing but black, charred stumps with red coals burning in their center. Rotten limbs. The counter burned the brightest with all of the pretty glass of the alcohol reflecting the light of the fire. It was all so pretty. Another step forward.

"Don, what the hell are you doing? We torched the place. We have to get out of here."

"It's not hot. Fire burns, but I don't feel the heat."

It was all so cold. His brother sounded so far away, like he was under an ocean. Raph didn't sound like he was at his side, shaking his shoulder. "Don, snap out of it. Get your ass together or I'm dragging you out."

The people were all gone. Don let them leave. Even the woman with the rotten teeth. He saw the basement. It was always in the basement where the secrets lie. Where the truth is exposed to the rawest form of reality. It was with the burning furnace that smelled of decaying flesh that he began the cleansing process. He needed to clean everything. Burn it all.

"Shit, this place is staring to fucking reek of dead people." Raph gripped him by the middle now and with a mighty heave began to drag him back.

Don didn't fight him.

"Bones don't melt," he said. His gaze couldn't be drawn away from the white fire that was growing along the far wall. It was too bright. "Magnesium Oxide wouldn't cause the biogenetic structure of the bone to crystallize. It just isn't hot enough. The faces won't go away. I can see them. They won't go away, Raph. They just keep on smiling."

"They were just skulls. It's not like they're people." His brother couldn't get past the cage of flames. He was trapped. They were all trapped.

"Didn't see the white powder. Didn't think it would burn so fast. It was too bright."

"How the fuck were you supposed to know that they stuck that magnesium shit right next to that oven, huh? They cook up dead people for fuck's sake. Smells like damn pork or something. Should have let them burn in this hellhole."

The room shook as more pillars of fiery wood cascaded down on them. The entrances were blocked. No oxygen. No darkness; only the light. His brother's sweat-covered, meaty hands dropped him as he squared up his shoulders at the cackling flames around them.

They were all laughing at them.

"Don." When did his brother become so big? He filled up the room. Blocked out the light. All he could see was the strong back before him. "Life is going to push you down. Shit happens. You're the one who has to stand up and push back." His great back turned then; golden eyes that scoured the fire itself. "Stand up."

Donatello averted his eyes. His brother was too bright.

"Stand up. You have two legs; use them. Nobody is going to save you."

"I've done what I could and it wasn't enough." The fire was coming in closer, now. Sweat used to cover his brother, but now there was a sheen of black soot. Raph was falling into the shadows. Just like him.

Raphael sighed. Flames licked the walls and ceiling, enjoying the feast of iron and wood, but the erratic movements did not upset him. He simply sat down eagle-spread with an elbow propped up on a knee. Like he was sitting on the roof of the farmhouse, looking over the sprawling lands. "Then that's how much you can do." Don felt the grip of his brother's hand upon his shoulder more than the burning air around them. "So one of us picks up where you left off. That's what family is. We do what you can't."

"Which does not entail sitting by idly while an entire building burns around you."

Don flinched at the stern voice; cranking his head behind him to see a heavily shrouded Splinter gazing down upon them with a commanding presence. "We have little time. I did not wait besides a hotdog stand to watch the sweating man stir clumpy mayonnaise; I waited for my sons to finish their business. Not to burn down an establishment."

A bald tail flicked in irritation behind the rat as he gripped the shocked shoulders of his two sons, hauling them to their feet. "Come."

No need to answer, the sons followed the father. Patches of the ceiling have disintegrated, collapsing due to the intense heat, but no sky peeked through. There was only smoke. Thick, black, and heavy smoke that choked them as they moved. Oxygen must have been introduced into the building. It wasn't sealed up anymore.

"Through here," Splinter pointed to the broken tiles of a bathroom wall that exposed a hole of plumbing behind the wreckage, "Hold your breath as you descend. Raphael, you lead us first. Donatello will follow and I will trail."

The smoke wasn't as heavy in the bathroom, nor was it as hot. A switch flipped in his mind as soon as his father's image appeared before him. His voice brought him back to the reality. It was like he was a little kid again. Raph ducked away from the sharp look of their father and leaped through the hold, gripping the piping with two hands. His brother nodded curtly at him before slipping down, between the walls, and disappearing from view. Don froze.

The room was creaking. It was about to pop.

"Donatello, follow your brother."

Hesitation will only take more time away from them. He complied with his heart in his throat as he slid down the piping after his brother, not feeling the sting of his hands breaking on the steel. The gas tanks must have been nearby. The shockwave of exploding pressure alone would be fatal, let alone the following inferno of flammable gas. They needed to move faster.

His feet touched the cold sewage; the underbelly of the building far darker than the fiery body above. Raphael grabbed the hook of his arm, while his gaze was glued to the top of the archway. His father had to drop down now, any second. His body was smaller; it would be easier for him to move between the layers of wall. But he was wearing clothing to protect his fur. His hood may have snagged on a broken pipe. He could be stuck.

"Where is he? He should be down by now." Raph's voice was hitched as he rushed to grip the wall of the sewer, craning his neck upwards to peer up into the empty hole. "I don't see him. Did he follow you? Did you even check? He's not here!"

"He had to have been behind me, there was nowhere else for him to go - "

The hole popped. A hot gale of wind and force knocked them both backwards; Don managed to keep his feet as his brother fell. He snagged Raph by the elbow, tugging him along as Don raced to escape the fire that he knew was sure to follow. Several feet of stone passed under their feet, but only the surrounding walls shook and creaked. There was no fire.

"Dad!" Raph shoved him away as he regained his own feet, pivoting sharply to bulrush back towards the escape patch. "_Oto-san_!"

Merging with the sewer wall he was thrust against, his vision swam white with lightheadedness. He forgot to begin breathing again. His father wasn't there. He was gone. Everybody keeps on falling away. He can't catch anything. Not anymore.

More rushed bouts of Japanese echoed throughout the musky tunnels as a hyperventilating Raph scrambled back up the wall, pulling himself into the hole above. He wouldn't find anything. There wouldn't even be a body anymore. Just ash and bones.

Bones don't melt.

* * *

Men should never install something unless they are sure they know how to do it right. It was like Home Improvement was stationed in her apartment, only instead of Tim Taylor, she was stuck with a Mr. Casey Jones. And she was the raging wife-to-be who wanted to string him up by his jock straps and beat him with his own hockey stick.

So here April O'Neil was, elbow deep in plumbing with rubber gloves, and no idea on what she was doing. All she knew was that the shower turned on when she flushed, and that the lights turned off when she turned on the faucet to the sink. She didn't even want to touch the lights at this point and chose to fix this damn toilet by candlelight if need be. Lucky for her, she had a phone that had a flashlight app, so she didn't need to go to that extreme.

It would be so much easier to have a professional to come and fix this, but not only were the prices ridiculous, but a pompous jerk actually had the gall to claim that she didn't have the mechanical mind to figure out how to install a toilet.

She had known a mechanical genius for the past four years of her life. Knowing how to barter on the black market wasn't the only knowledge she gained from Donatello. That guy could install this toilet blindfolded and with Klingon directions. Not that he would even have to use the booklet. The guy could probably write a better one than the actual company. Nowadays, it was getting the guy out of his little hole in the sewers that was the trick.

April frowned as she loosened another bolt in the elbow pipe. It looked a little like Don's face. Only without the snarky witticisms.

"Did Casey flush his engagement ring down the toilet again? You should just cut up some aluminum foil and fold it around his finger. It would float at least."

"Right, Leo. As if that would save me much time fishing it out of this thing again," April popped the side of the porcelain bowl with the meaty part of her hand, "But no, he didn't flush it again. He lost it down the shower drain. _This_ is his shoddy handyman job that ruined my bathroom! He keeps on pissing on the floor because the idiot doesn't know how to turn on the light without blowing something up."

"Couldn't he just sit and pee?"

April blinked, frozen with her hand wrench poised in front of her. "Mikey?" Turning then, her lips split more and more into a wide smile as she dropped the tool with a clatter. "My Mikey! I – well, it's been so long!"

She was halfway up, just one knee, when she paused with a sheepish grin and said, "Oh, sorry. Don't mind me, I'm just a bit excited. I didn't mean to startle you."

But he wasn't flinching, or avoiding her nervous gaze, or even fidgeting around anxiously. He was grinning himself, giving her a salute as he said, "It's cool, dude. I'm not the ticking time bomb I once was. I had a bit of a Leo-chill-pill to help sort me out. It's good to see you too."

His eyes didn't crinkle like the used too. She hesitated at first, knees popping as she stood upright, and slowly extended a hand in an awkward greeting. "Do you know anything about toilets?"

"Only what makes them blow up."

He took her hand and pulled her into a tight embrace. April patted the back of his head, smiling down on the top of his bald head. He was all nuzzled up against her like a little kid. He was so warm, that she knew that this had to be real. This wasn't another dream where she'd wake up to him being gone again. To everybody being gone.

"Are these directions in Korean, then?" Leo spoke up again, pulling the two out of their little moment as he waved the booklet around. "Because I believe that I could do this. The pictures indicated here are very informative, even if I don't understand the written content."

If anybody knew how to take charge of a situation, it was that guy. April laughed, suddenly bubbly and light in the chest as she waved a hand idly in his direction and said, "Of course, go for it. I'm sure you'll get farther than I ever did."

"Can I help?"

April couldn't remember Mikey ever asking to join in on any activity that a brother was doing. It was hard to get him to not jump in, even when he wasn't wanted. She gave a small smile and patted his shoulder to say, "Sure, Mike. I'll get some hot chocolate started, then. We'll figure this out eventually. It'll be a lot easier with you two helping me out."

"You can go start that, Mike. I'm going to really quick get a run-down of how this works." The booklet was held upside down and a confused furrow was present across Leonardo's brow. It was so cute how he rotated the book at every angle imaginable, obviously not coming to any conclusions on how to read it. Even the super ninja had a weakness. Toilets.

They left the bathroom with the buzzing of Leo's mind at work behind them. Either that or he was grinding his teeth again. The guy would need dentures by the time he reached thirty. April watched Mikey from the corner of her eye; how he moved with slow, careful steps and lacked the usually energized hop that he always seemed to have. He was quieter, too.

"How many marshmallows did you want? I have big or little ones." April gathered the fluffy packages of white sweets from her cupboards, looking around for the paper packets. Instant hot chocolate was as good as any. "I swear I put them around here somewhere. Ever since Casey moved in, he's been moving my stuff around so that I can never find anything."

He didn't say anything. He nodded and made a show to look around, but by the way his eyes just phased over what he was doing and never focusing; she could tell he wasn't really looking. He wasn't even excited for hot chocolate.

"Found them," April pulled out a few packets from a Hello Kitty cookie jar, "I forgot I even had this thing. It's creepy, isn't it? I think Don got this for me. I never remember who got what anymore. I guess I'm just getting old."

April was beginning to get a subtle gnawing at the base of her stomach, so she was quick about filling the coffee cups with water and sticking them in the microwave. She watched as Mikey shuffled out of the kitchen and into the living room. He was walking like an old man. Maybe she wasn't the one getting old. But she should be; not them.

With the hot chocolate steaming, she made sure to have more marshmallows that actual hot chocolate; just how he liked it. April poured the other two more simple cups, having no chewy white blobs at all, and carried them into the living-room. She placed the swirling brown liquid on the coffee table and settled down next to Mikey.

"Did you want some, Leo? It's out here if you want to take a break," April called out.

"I'm okay. I think that I almost have this." The vote of confidence from his part was followed by a sharp hiss as more steel clashed against each other. It sounded like he was just trying to press the pipes together, forcing them to interlock and work. Definitely needed to get Don up here, or at least Raph. Those two always seemed more into the mechanical stuff. As different as these two may seem, Leo and Mike both seem to think the same way. Her little artists.

_"Authorities have approached the scene and are currently fighting to contain the recent outbreak of fire in the southwestern part of Manhattan. The fire originated in an establishment by the name of Dirty Harry's and witnesses claim that an elderly man was last seen approaching the - "_

April turned off the television. She could have turned it down, but she felt as if the program bothered him. It was hard to hear his quiet mumblings beside her. He was obviously in better shape than the short glimpse she caught of him all those weeks ago, but he was so different. He didn't fill his mouth with so many marshmallows that his cheeks expanded like a gluttonous chipmunk. Instead, he stared blankly at the drink and said again, "I said that I haven't seen Don around in awhile. He'd be really good about the toilet thing. Although I'd be careful because he'd probably do something extra to it, like making it rotate or something. He's funny like that."

He didn't laugh.

April nodded in agreement as the wild vibrations of the chimes outside her apartment window began to go crazy. Leaving the couch to go check on the chimes, she opened the window expecting a strong wind to smack her in the face. There was nothing.

"These are the weirdest chimes. They always seem to go off on their own." April brought them back inside and noticed how entangled they were, with the string wrapped tightly around all the brightly polished metal. "Splinter gave these to me, if I remember right. I can't believe how tangled they got! I didn't even feel any wind."

Maybe it was all of the supernatural occurrences that she experienced in the past years, or simply her paranoia, but April was sure that this was a sign of something. The first time she heard them, she was filled with elation. Now, she was not so sure what her intuition was telling her. Whether or not the omen was good, she had no idea. All she knew was that chimes don't sing on their own.

* * *

**A/N - It's actually 1 AM in the morning right now, so I'm heading to bed. I will thank SushiSheaShogun for the help in determining a good title for this chapter. I'm always bad with titles. Heh. **


	9. The Edge

_See? I told you I'd update soon. Bet you didn't expect the next day. Heh. I keep on doing so much new crap with this story that I don't know what to do anymore. So I'm winging it. I really wanted to write some more Splinter in this story in hopes of getting some cool one-shots with a younger Splinter in the future._

* * *

This accursed tail will be the death of him.

"Raphael!" His snout was filled with the burnt scents of fur, wood, and flesh. How his sons always seemed to be drawn to such places were beyond him. In his youth, he strayed from the workings of humans. They were so alien, so odd. "I will be down in a moment. This ridiculous tent of a coat has snagged and - " Splinter breathed with relief as the cloth finally ripped free, "Now if only I can straighten out my tail, I will be in a better position."

"Don, stop staring at fucking walls and get over here already!" His vulgar son meant well, but Splinter was sure that his son must not understand the meaning of the word; otherwise he would not have used it in such a context. "I'm coming up! Okay? So just don't move or something. I don't know. Don!"

He was not a cat stuck in a tree! He can get down by his own power. Just because his joints were stiff in the morning did not mean that he was getting old. As much as Donatello seemed certain that he should be carrying about a cane. Impatience getting the best of the old rat, he inhaled and held that breath as he slid down further, his coat once again snagging on something in the wall as his feet dangled out of the hole.

Apparently he was just as vulgar as his son as Splinter used the Japanese language in a way that would make his green sons turn purple with embarrassment. Now he supposed he knew where Raphael may have gotten the foul tongue from. Two sets of hands gripped him by the torso and any dignity that he had as a father was most likely stripped away then.

"Can you twist your left arm towards your chin? No, your nose is too long. You have too – No, not that way! I said left, not my left! Your left." Donatello, for all of his brilliant intellect, did not seem very helpful in this situation. Kids.

"I am stuck between a hot place and a hard place. Just pull me out before I lose all sensory in my whiskers!"

More ripping of cloth and fur as his sons pulled down hard enough to make his eyes bulge out of their sockets. Every joint and socket in his body popped and he was released from the damned hole, but he felt as limp as a noodle. He must get this stretching done more often. It felt very good on his bones.

"Thank you, my sons." He flipped down what was left of his robe and the coat with as much dignity and pride that he could muster. He was still their father, after all. "We must continue away from this place. It is not safe here."

His eyes were sharp as he drilled them into the back of his sons' heads. They moved quickly, almost too quickly for his shorter stride, but his recent orthopedic wonder made his body more fluid and agile. It was not until even he could not hear the crackling and hissing of burning wood before he had them settle to a halt. Splinter pulled Raphael to the side, indicating to the other brother to wait for a moment. He had to tap on his son's chin to get him to bend down far enough to whisper in his ear.

How his sons grew to be so much bigger than him, the rat would never understand.

"Before you leave for home, know that _all_ of your brothers are in the house of Ms. O'Neil and that they are sure to welcome you there." Finally, he was able to relay some pleasing information to a son. It seemed that it had been far too long before he had any kind news to tell.

Raphael seemed to not quite understand at first, but slowly his eyes widened like a child who had first discovered how numbers came together to form other numbers. He nodded vigorously with a smile just itching at the corners of his mouth, but he continued to stay solemn. Why this son of his was so apt to hide his happy emotions away but show all of his anger, Splinter did not understand.

"Yeah, I'll get right over there. Uh," his eyes swerved towards his brother as he froze with indecision. He did not wish to tattle on his brother. How cute. "Just to put this out there - I was the one who blew up the place. Not him."

It gave the old rat pride to see such nobility in his son; even if he was lying through his teeth. The intention was pure, and that was good enough for the father. "I will keep that in mind, Raphael."

His other son had not said a word during this exchange. Splinter had to strain his ears to even make sure that his son was even breathing. The dark eyes were falling more and more into shadow by the day. It was time to confront this darkness.

Raphael twitched as if he was going to make a gesture of affection towards the two of them, but instead scratched the back of his neck and turned to walk away. Splinter wondered idly if this was the case in most adolescents, because he was unsure of handle their awkward natures. Hopefully it was simply another phase that he had to wait through.

"Come with me, my son."

* * *

The ground was soggy beneath his feet and the air was musky with the presence of ancient death. Nighttime was settled deeply into the sky, with all the stars cast away by the light pollution of the city. Tombstones stood in droves of weathered rock. They were all misshapen and jutted outwards from the ground like crooked teeth. All those bodies were already eaten by the ground.

"I only used the Ouija board once, and that was more for curiosity and less for my interest in the black arts," Don said. Normally he would be perfectly comfortable in a cemetery, but tonight his skin crawled with a fever. He kept on imagining all the faces underground. Watching him. "Why are we here?"

"To show you the results of the path you have taken."

The air grew heavier and Don swallowed at the sudden nerves that sprang up in the center of his belly, "I know this already. You didn't have to bring me here."

"Do you?" His father turned to face him then. The sharp eyes were darker than the night sky above them. "Because I have seen nothing but naivety and ignorance upon this."

"What I did was inexcusable, I know I - "

"You know nothing!" His father was half his size but commanded a voice several times larger than the entire span of the graveyard. "Once you acknowledge that fact, you will know something."

Don kept his mouth pierced, saying nothing. He nodded.

"Revenge is nothing but a poison." His father was quiet, suddenly. His voice soft as velvet, but sad and knowing as well. "I first raised you and your brothers with revenge plaguing my mind."

Donatello blinked. The concept of his own father raising him for revenge was almost ludicrous, to him. For as long as he could remember, he could only see kindness and sympathy. Probably why they didn't grow into raging sociopaths.

"This is true, my son. The death of my master, a man whom I myself considered to be a father, was a dark time in my life. I wished only for Saki to be gone from this world. I wanted that man dead for I hated him. This was why I trained you in the art of assassination. The path of Ninjitsu."

Standing awkwardly by as his father knelt before a poorly kept grave before him, Don fiddled with his hands as he was unsure of what to do. So he did nothing.

"So many deaths, Donatello. That was what revenge is. It is simply death." A hand reached out to brush against the long strands of yellowed grass, at the grave. Don didn't recognize the name on the headstone, it was too faded away. "It is because of this that I have to stop you. By your own right, you are an adult. You are capable of making your own decisions."

Sad eyes rose to meet his own and Donatello felt his chest tighten at the connection. "Do not make an old man's mistake. Learn from what I tell you and take the path that leads to life, not death."

"I can't go back," Don whispered. "It's too late. It's already done."

"Then you will learn as I learned. It was many years before I showed you and your brothers any compassion. I could only think of Saki, and my hatred of him. But what altered my thinking, Donatello, was that there was no hate in any of your eyes. You did not hate me, nor could I hate you. From there, that grew into the love that I hold for you today and this will hold long past my own death."

"But Saki, what did you do about Saki? He killed your only family," Don said. He began pacing back and forth, across the graves. "Why shouldn't he die? It only makes logical sense that to keep balance you would have to take equal from him, what he took from you. A life for a life."

"You cannot measure lives, my son. They are not numbers or statistics. They are much more than that. Michelangelo understands this. He has far more insight into the lives of other people than I could ever hope to attain. You must learn from him, as I have."

"No, it's stupid." He stopped pacing. "Where are we, anyways? Who's graves are these?"

"I do not know," Splinter said. "I do not have graves for Tang Shin and Yoshi, so I imagine them being buried here, together. Finally at peace." He gazed fondly at the two headstones, pressed tightly together. There wasn't enough room for all the bodies. They should stack them in burial, like in Europe.

"But this isn't them. I don't understand why people do this. They ignore what is real and cling onto this false sense of reality that they build for themselves. It doesn't make sense."

"People are not to be completely understood, my son. You simply accept them."

"I can't! No, I refuse too. I'm not going to construe some false idea that Mikey is fine and that nothing happened. This has to be fixed, somehow. I can't just ignore it because the problem is still there. I just have to solve it."

"You cannot fix people, Donatello. They suffer through their hardships and change. You cannot stop this or reverse it."

"He's not the same!" Ravens took off into flight at the booming echo of his voice. "That is not the same person who left seven weeks ago. He doesn't laugh anymore. Or even smile. I don't know how to make him happy because he was always just happy! I don't know how to fix him."

"Donatello - "

No," he cut his father off. Don took a step back, grimacing. "I have to fix this. I have to take responsibility for what I have done."

His father gave him a sad look as he left and Don could feel the weighted sight on his shoulders. It was crushing him. He had to fix this. He had to give back what he had taken.

* * *

He wasn't hard to find.

Morning was approaching soon and Mikey could see the veins of pink and yellow snaking through the sky. The sun would be up any minute. His brother was pacing along the edge of a building, just below him. The roof that he sat on was steep and he had to grip on a pole at the very top to keep from slipping. His brother didn't notice him watching.

Foot by foot, he noticed that his brother always had at least half of his body teetering along the edge, but he made no move to jump. He simply walked as if he was taking a stroll along a sidewalk and not with several hundred feet of air between him and the asphalt ground.

Mikey's stomach shifted uncomfortably. He should get down there. His brother was really starting to make him nervous, now. Letting go of the pole and letting his body roll forward, he used the momentum from the tumble to leap down to the other rooftop and land on the ball of his toes. This was the first time he had really been topside. The air was nice.

"Hey."

His brother didn't look up. He simply kept on pacing back and forth; just over the edge. Mikey couldn't get his eyes to come up to look at him properly, so the cautious turtle approached slowly. He didn't want to startle his brother, which he found slightly ironic, since not too long ago he was the unstable one. The ticking time bomb.

"Are you even going to look at me? I dragged my ass all the way up here to talk to you."

That stopped him. He looked up in disbelief and tensed up a bit, "This isn't what it looks like so don't jump to conclusions."

"Dude, I'm not going to jump to anything." His expression was hard as he stepped up to the edge as well, staring at the washes of grey and pink below them. "Not that I didn't think about it."

His brother didn't say anything.

Mikey took a deep, filling breath before continuing, "They were me, all along. It was all me, you know. I just – I don't know. I needed to do some of that introspective shit."

His brother didn't say anything.

"Will you just say something? This is getting real fucking annoying, you know." He didn't know why, but the dull haze that he was always in was wiped away. Now there was only this bitter ball of anger in his chest. "I may not be dancing around like Mr. Sunshine but I sure as hell can stand on my own two feet, now. I'm not holed up like some outcast just waiting to die."

"Stop, okay?" Finally, a response. Don crouched and gripped the edge with the palm of his hand, not meeting his eyes. "I know."

"If you know so damn much than how about you tell me what I came here to find out."

His brother didn't say anything. Again. He would get more response out of a brick wall.

"I know what you did."

Don sighed then, body no longer tense but weary and slumped. He sat down on the edge, his legs dangling into the air. "That obvious?"

"You're just lucky that we're not the New York state police, dude." Mikey sat next to his brother, mimicking his posture. "You wouldn't last long in county."

At first his brother said nothing, only chewing on the inside of his cheek. The familiar snake of irritation started to rile up with every passing second of silence before Don finally said, "I'm sorry."

"It's cool."

"No, it's not." His brother began to get back to his feet, his joints popping with every movement. "None of this is cool. This is pathetic."

Mikey stood up as well, taking a step back from the edge and watching his brother more warily now. His tone changed suddenly; it was too venomous. Too bitter. "Don, take a step back. We can talk about this without you being inches away from taking a tumble off this roof. Okay?"

His brother laughed; some broken, crazed sound that made Mikey's skin crawl. It was too familiar. Don was breaking. "Step back? Why not step forward. That's what he would have done. Step forward and take what you want. That's what determines who wins. Who is on top."

"You're not him, Don. Step away from the edge."

"You're right. I'm not him." The dark eyes solidified into specs of obsidian. "I couldn't stop him, either. He got the best of me. Of you. He got everything. And what happens to him? He gets his head lobbed off. Where's the justice in that? He got off easy, and that's bullshit."

"Don't start the stupid fight on what's right or wrong, Don. You know it never works out like that. Just be glad that he's finally gone and nobody else is going to get hurt by him." Mikey tried to sound soothing, but it seemed to do nothing but put his brother on edge.

"But that's not the end. There are other people like him. Who have done what he did. What about them? They can get away with destroying lives and can go about doing whatever mundane shit that they do. Every day." He took a deep, quivering breath then. His eyes were closed. "I don't know how they did it. How they lived with themselves. It always hang over your head. Every moment."

"My life isn't destroyed, Donnie." He reached for his brother, but Don jerked back. Mike froze with his eyes trained on his brother's. He couldn't break contact. "I'm okay now. You can come home and we can watch Jeopardy or something. I'll make weird comments about the hot hostess and you can make fun of all the people who don't know what a quark is."

His brother's face crumpled with wet eyes. "I don't know what to do, Mikey. I can't stop thinking. The more I think the less anything makes sense anymore. I'm just as guilty as they are and they lost their lives for what they did. I took their lives."

"I know, and that's not cool, but if you die that won't prove anything. You'll just be dead. Not much logic in that, right? You can't stick a square in a round hole."

Don pinched the corner of his eyes and shook his head, "Logic. Facts. It all seems so pointless now." His eyes were hazy again. Blank. Mikey was just staring at an empty slate. "There has to be a balance. Equivalent exchange. I took lives. I have to give an equal share of what I took."

Donatello went over the edge.

* * *

**A/N - Have I mentioned I love character deaths and cliffhangers? Although this is the first time I pushed a character this far. Usually this is a really dark subject for me so I avoid it like the plague... But it sort of sprang up at the end. I wonder how I'll end this.**


End file.
